UC-NRLF 


SB    111   flflS 


OF  SELECT  NOVELS 


A 


CASTLE  IN  SPAIN  j 


BY  JAMES   DE   MILLE 

AUTHOR  OF   "CORD  AND  CREESE"    "THE  CRYPTOGRAM" 

"  THE  DODGE  CLUB  "   "  THE  AMERICAN  BARON  " 

"THE  LIVING  LINK"   ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  E.  A.  ABBEY 


NEW     YORK 
HARPER    &    BROTHERS,   PUBLISHERS 

FRANKLIN     SQUARE 

i  818  3  . 


ALL  THE  WORKS  IN  THIS  SERIES  ARE 

Unabridged  and  Unaltered 


BERKELEY 

LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 


j^> 

G 


HARPER'S  LIBRARY  OF  SELECT  NOVELS. 


PKIOE 

1.  Pelham.     By  Bulwer $0  40 

2.  The  Disowned.     By  Bulwer 50 

3.  Devereux.    By  Bulwer 40 

4.  Paul  Clifford.     By  Bulwer 40 

5.  Eugene  Aram.     By  Bulwer 35 

6.  The  Last  Days  of  Pompeii.     By  Bulwer 25 

7.  The  Czarina.     By  Mrs.  Holland 40 

8.  Rienzi.     By  Bulwer 40 

9.  Self- Devotion.     By  Miss  Campbell 80 

10.  The  Nabob  at  Home 35 

11.  Ernest  Maltravers.     By  Bulwer 35 

12.  Alice ;  or,  The  Mysteries.     By  Bulwer 85 

13.  The  Last  of  the  Barons.     By  Bulwer 50 

14.  Forest  Days.     By  James 40 

15.  Adam  Brown,  the  Merchant.     By  H.  Smith.  ...  35 

16.  Pilgrims  of  the  Rhine.     By  Bulwer 20 

17.  The  Home.     By  Miss  Bremer 35 

18.  The  Lost  Ship.     By  Captain  Neale 40 

19.  The  False  Heir.     By  James 40 

20.  The  Neighbors.    By  Miss  Bremer — 

21.  Nina.     By  Miss  Bremer 35 

22.  The  President's  Daughters.     By  Miss  Bremer. . .  20 

23.  The  Banker's  Wife.     By  Mrs.  Gore 85 

24.  The  Birthright.     By  Mrs.  Gore 20 

25.  Ne  w  Sketches  of  E  very-day  Life.  By  Miss  Bremer  35 

26.  Arabella  Stuart.     By  James 35 

27.  The  Grumbler.     By  Miss  Pickering 35 

28.  The  Unloved  One.     By  Mrs.  Holland 40 

29.  Jack  of  the  Mill.     By  William  Howitt 20 

30.  The  Heretic.     By  La  jetchnikoff 40 

31.  The  Jew.     By  Spindl'er 50 

32.  Arthur.     By  Sue 40 

33.  Chatsworth.     By  Ward 30 

34.  The  Prairie  Bird.     By  C.  A.  Murray 50 

35.  Amy  Herbert.     By  Miss  Sewell 35 

36.  Rose  d'Albret.     By  James 40 

37.  The  Triumphs  of  Time.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 40 

38.  The  II Family.     By  Miss  Bremer 40 

39.  The  Grandfather.     By  Miss  Pickering 30 

40.  Arrah  Neil.     By  James 35 

41.  The  Jilt 35 

42.  Tales  from  the  German 25 

43.  Arthur  Arundel.     By  H.  Smith 40 

44.  Agincourt.     By  James — 

45.  The  Regent's  Daughter 85 

4G.  The  Maid  of  1 1 onor 25 

47.  Sana.     By  De  Beauvoir 25 

48.  Look  to  the  End.     By  Mrs.  Ellis 40 

49.  The  Improvisatore.     By  Andersen 30 

50.  The  Gambler's  Wife.     By  Mrs.  Grey 40 

51 .  Veronica.     By  Zschokke 25 

52.  Zoe.    By  Miss  Jewsbury 35 

53.  Wyoming 30 

54.  De  Rohan.     By  Sue 40 

55.  Self.     By  the  Author  of 'Cecil" 50 

56.  The  Smuggler.    By  James 50 

57.  The  Breach  of  Promise 35 

58.  Parsonage  of  Mora.     By  Miss  Bremer 20 

59.  A  Chanca  Medley.     By  T.  C.  Grattan 35 

60.  The  White  Slave 50 

61.  The  Bosom  Friend.     By  Mrs.  Grey 35 

62.  Amaury.     By  Dumns 25 

63.  The  Author's"  Daughter.     By  Mary  Howitt 20 

64.  Only  a  Fiddler !  &c.     By  Andersen 50 

65.  The  W  hiteboy.     By  Mrs.  I  Ml 40 

66.  The  Foster-Brother.     Edited  by  Leigh  Hunt 40 

67.  Love  and  Mesmerism.     By  H.  Smith 50 

6S.   Ascanio.     By  Dumas 50 

6:>.   Lady  of  Milan.     Edited  by  Mrs.  Thomson 50 

70.  The  Citizen  of  Prague 60 

71.  The  Royal  Favorite.     By  Mrs.  Gore 35 

72.  The  Queen  of  Denmark.     By  Mrs.  Gore 35 

73.  The  Elves,  &c.     ByTieck 40 

74.  75.  The  Step-Mother.     By  James 60 

76.  Jessie's  Flirtations 30 

77.  Chevalier  d'Harmental.    By  Dumas 35 

78.  Peers  and  Parvenus.     By  Mrs.  Gore 35 

79.  The  Commander  of  Malta.     By  Sue — 

80.  The  Female  Minister 25 

81.  Emilia  Wyndham.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 40 

82.  The  Bush-Ranger.    By  Charles  Row  croft 40 

S3.  The  Chronicles  of  Clovernook 20 

84.  Genevieve.     By  Lamartine 20 

85.  Li vonian  Tales 20 

86.  Lettice  Arnold.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 20 

87.  Father  Darcy.    By'Mrs.  Marsh 40 

88.  Leontine.     By  Mrs.  Maberly 40 

89.  Heidelberg.     By  James 40 


90. 

91. 

92, 

93. 

95. 

96. 

97. 

98. 

99. 
100. 
101. 
102. 
103. 
104. 
105. 
106. 
107. 
108. 
109. 
110. 
111. 
112. 
113, 
115. 
116. 
117. 
118. 

119. 
120. 
121. 
122. 
123. 
124. 
125, 
127. 
128. 
129. 
130. 
131. 
132. 
133. 
134. 
135. 
136. 
137. 
138. 
139. 
140. 
141. 
142. 
143. 
144. 
145. 
146. 
147. 
148. 
149. 
150. 
151. 
152. 
153. 
154. 


PRIOR 

Lucretia.    By  Bulwer }0  40 

Beauchamp.    By  James 40 

94.  Fortescue.     By  Knowles 60 

Daniel  Deuison,  &c.     By  Mrs.  Holland 30 

Cinq-Mars.     By  De  Vigny 40 

Woman's  Trials.     By  Mrs.  S.  C.  Hall 50 

The  Castle  of  Ehrensteiu.     By  James 85 

Marriage.     By  Miss  S.  Ferrier — 

Roland  Cashel.     By  Lever.    Illustrated 75 

Martins  of  Cro'  Martin.     By  Lever 60 

Russell.     By  James 40 

A  Simple  Story.     By  Mrs.  Inchbald 30 

Norman's  Bridge.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 35 

Alamance 40 

Margaret  Graham.     By  James 20 

The  Wayside  Cross.     By  E.  II.  Milmaii 20 

The  Convict.     By  James 35 

Midsummer  Eve.     By  Mrs.  S.  C.  Hull 25 

Jane  Eyre.     By  Currer  Bell 40 

The  Last  of  the  Fairies.     By  James 20 

Sir  Theodore  Broughton.     By  James 40 

Self-Control.     By  Mary  Brunton 50 

114.  Harold.     By  Bulwer 60 

Brothers  and  Sisters.     By  Miss  Bremer 40 

Gowrie.     By  James 35 

A  Whim  and  its  Consequences.     By  James 40 

Three  Sisters  and  Three  Fortunes.     By  G.  II. 

Lewes 50 

The  Discipline  of  Life 40 

Thirty  Years  Since.     By  James 50 

Mary  Barton.    By  Mrs.  Gaskell 40 

The  Great  Hoggarty  Diamond.     By  Thackeray  20 

The  Forgery.     By  James 40 

The  Midnight  Sun.     By  Misa  Bremer 20 

126.  The  Caxtons.     By  Bulwer 50 

Mordaunt  Hall.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 40 

My  Uncle  the  Curate 40 

The  Woodman.     By  James 50 

The  Green  Hand.     A  " Short  Yarn" — 

Sidonia  the  Sorceress.     By  Meinhold 50 

Shirley.     By  Currer  Bell 50 

The  Ogilvies 35 

Constance  Lyndsay.     By  G.  C.  II 30 

Sir  Edward  Graham.     By  Miss  Sinclair 50 

Hands  not  Hearts.     By  Miss  Wilkinson 30 

The  Wilmingtons.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 35 

Ned  Allen.     By  D.  llannay 30 

Night  and  Morning.     By  Bulwer 50 

The  Maid  of  Orleans 50 

Antonina.     By  Wilkie  Collins 40 

Zanoni.     By  Bulwer 35 

Reginald  Hastings.     By  Warburton  . . .  „ 35 


Pride  and  Irresolution. 

The  Old  Oak  Chest.     By  James 

Julia  Howard.     By  Mrs.  Martin  Bell 

Adelaide  Lindsay.     Edited  by  Mrs.  Marsh 

Petticoat  Government.     By  Mrs.  Trollope 

The  Luttrells.     By  F.  Williams 

Singleton  Fontenoy,  R.N.     By  Hannay 

Olive.     By  the  Author  of  "  The  Ogilvies 

Henry  Smeaton.     By  James 

Time,  the  Avenger.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 

The  Commissioner.    Bv  James 


35 
40 
30 
25 
40 
35 
40 
35 
50 
35 
60 

155.  The  Wife's  Sister.     By  Mrs.  Hubback 35 

1 56.  The  Gold  Worshippers 35 

157.  The  Daughter  of  Night.     By  Fullom 35 

158.  Stuart  of  Dunleath.     By  lion.  Caroline  Norton.      — 

159.  Arthur  Conway.     By  Captain  E.  II.  Milman  ...      40 

160.  The  Fate.     By  James 40 

161.  The  Lady  and  the  Priest.     By  Mrs.  Maberly. . .      — 

162.  Aims  and  Obstacles.     By  James 50 

163.  The  Tutor's  Ward 30 

164.  Florence  Sackville.    By  Mrs.  Burbury 50 

165.  Ravenscliffe.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 40 

166.  Maurice  Tiernay.     By  Lever  .  .*. 50 

167.  The  Head  of  the  Family.     By  Miss  Mulock ....      50 

1 68.  Darien.     By  Warburton 35 

169.  Falkenburg 50 

170.  The  Daltons.     By  Lever 75 

171.  Ivar;  or,  The  Skjuts-Boy.     By  Miss  Carlen...      35 

172.  Pequinillo.     By  James 40 

173.  Anna  Hammer.     By  Temme 40 

174.  A  Life  of  Vicissitudes.     By  James 25 

175.  Henry  Esmond.     By  Thackeray 50 

176.  177.  My  Novel.     By  Bulwer 75 

178.  Katie  Stewart 20 

179.  Castle  Avon.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 40 

ISO.  Agnes  Sorel.    By  James 40 


Harper's  Library  of  Select  Novels,  &c. 


520. 
521. 
522. 
523. 
524. 
525. 
5-26. 
527. 
528. 

520. 
530. 
531. 
532. 
533. 
534. 
535. 
536. 
53T. 

538. 
539. 
540. 
541. 
542. 

543. 
544. 
545. 
54C. 
547. 
548. 
549. 
550. 
551. 
552. 
553. 
554. 

555. 

556. 
557. 


500. 
561. 
562. 
563. 
5(54. 
565. 
506. 

567. 

r>r,s. 

569. 


PRICE 

My  Daughter  Elinor.   By  Frank  Lee  Benedict.$0  80 

John  Worth ington's  Name.  By  F.  Lee  Benedict  75 

Miss  Dorothy's  Charge.     By  F.  Lee  Benedict. .  75 

Miss  Van  Kortland.     By  Frank  Lee  Benedict. .  60 

St.  Simon's  Niece.     By  Frank  Lee  Benedict...  CO 

Mr.  Vanghan'e  Heir.     By  Frank  Lee  Benedict  75 

Captain  Brand.      By  11.  A.  Wise.     Illustrated  75 

Sooner  or  Later,     by  Shirley  Brooks.     Ill'd. .  80 
The  Gordian  Knot.     By  Shirley  Brooks.   With 

an  Illustration 50 

The  Silver  Cord.     By  Shirley  Brooks.    Ill'd. . .  — 

Cord  and  Creese.    By  James  De  Mille.    Ill'd. .  CO 

The  Living  Link.     By  James  De  Mille.     Ill'd  CO 

The  American  Baron.    By  James  De  Miile.  Ill'd  5'.) 

The  Cryptogram.    By  James  De  Mille.    Ill'd..  75 

The  King  of  No-Land.    By  B.  L.  Farjeon.   Ill'd  25 

An  Island  Pearl.     By  B.  L.  Farjeon.     Ill'd 30 

Blade-o' -Grass.    By  B.  L.  Farjeon.    Illustrated  30 
Bread-and-Cheese  and  Kisses.     By  B.  L.  Far 
jeon.     Illustrated 35 

Golden  Grain.     By  B.  L.  Farjeon.     Illustrated  35 

London's  Heart.    By  B.  L.  Farjeon.    Illustrated  CO 

Shadows  on  the  Snow.    By  B.  L.  Farjeon.    Ill'd  30 

Not  Dead  Yet.     By  John  Cordy  Jeaffreson Co 

The  Island  Neighbors.     By  Mrs.  A.  B.  Black- 

well.     Illustrated CO 

The  Woman's  Kingdom.    By  Miss  Mulock CO 

Hannah.     By  Miss  Mulock.     With  Three  Ill's  35 

A  Brave  Lady.     By  Miss  Mulock.     Illustrated  CO 

My  Mother  and  I.    By  Miss  Mulock.  Illustrated  40 

Chronicles  of  Carlingford.    By  Mrs.  Oliphaut..  GO 


Old  Kensington.  By  Miss  Thackeray.  Ill'd..  CO 
Miss  Angel.  By  Miss  Thackeray.  Illustrated  50 
Miss  Thackeray's  Miscellaneous  Writings.  Ill'd  90 
Vanity  Fair.  By  W.  M.Thackeray.  Illustrated  80 
The  History  of  Pendennis.  By  W.  M.  Thack 
eray.  Illustrated 75 

The  Virginians.     By  W.  M.  Thackeray.     Ill'd  f«0 
The  Newcome?.    By  W.  M.  Thackeray.    lira..  DO 
The  Adventures  of  Philip.     By  W.  M.  Thack 
eray.     Illustrated CO 

Henry  Esmond,  and  Lovel  the  Widower.     By 

W.  M.  Thackeray.     1  llustrated CO 

Put  Yourself  in  His  Plac?.    By  Charles  Reade. 

Illustrated 50 

A  Terrible  Temptation.  By  Charles  Kende.  Ill'd  40 

The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth.    By  Charles  Keade  50 

The  Wandering  Heir.    By  Charles  Keade.    Ill'd  25 

Hard  Cash.     By  Charles  Keade.     Illustrated . .  50 

Griffith  Gaunt.     By  Charles  Reade.     Ill'd....  40 

It  is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mend.    ByCharles  Keade  50 
Love  Me  Little,  Love  Me  Long.     By  Charles 

Keade.    With  an  Illustration 35 

Foul  Play.     By  Charles  Reade 35 

White  Lies.     By  Charles  Keade 40 

Peg  Woffington,  Christie  Johnstone,  and  Other 

Stories.     By  Charles  Keade 50 

A  Woman-Hater.     By  Charles  Keade.     With 

Two  Illustrations CO 


571. 

572. 

573. 

574. 

575. 
576. 

577. 
578. 

579. 

580. 
581. 

582. 
583. 
584. 

5S5. 
5SC. 

587. 

5SS. 

589. 
590. 
591. 

592. 

593. 

594. 
595. 

596. 

597. 
598. 
599. 
600. 
601. 
G02. 
603. 
004. 
G05. 

606. 
G07. 
60S. 
609. 
610. 
611. 
612. 
613. 
614. 
615. 


PRICE 

Orley  Farm.    By  Anthony  Trollope.    Ill'd $0  SO 

The  Vicar  of  Bullhampton.     By  Anthony  Trol 


lope.     Illustrated... 
The  Way  We  Live  Now. 
lope.     Illustrated 


By  Anthony  Trol- 


80 


Phineas  Finn.     By  Anthony  Trollope.     Ill'd.. 
Phineas  Redux.     By  Anthony  Trollope. 


Ill'd  75 

Ralph  the  Heir.     By  Anthony  Trollope.     Ill'd  75 

The  Eustace  Diamonds.    By  Anthony  Trollope  80 
The  Last  Chronicle  of  Barset.      By  Anthony 

Trollope.     Illustrated 90 

The  Golden  Lion  of  Granpere.      By  Anthony 

Trollope.     Illustrated 40 

The  Prime  Minister.     By  Anthony  Trollope  . .  60 
Can  You  Forgive   Her?     By  Anthony  Trol 
lope.     Illustrated SO 

He  Knew  He  Was  Right.     By  Anthony  Trol 
lope.     Illustrated SO 

The  Small  House  at  Allington.     By  Anthony 

Trollope.     Illustrated 75 

The  Sacristan's  Household.    By  Mrs.  F.  E.  Trol 
lope.    Illustrated 50 

Lindisfarn  Chase.     By  T.  A.  Trollope GO 

Hidden  Sin.     Illustrated CO 

My  Enemy's  Daughter.     By  Justin  McCarthy. 

Illustrated 50 

My  Husband's  Crime.     By  M.  K.  Housekeeper. 

Illustrated 50 

Stretton.     By  Henry  Kingsley 35 

Ship  Ahoy!    By  G.  M.  Fenn.     Illustrated 35 

Debenham's   Vow.     By  Amelia   B.    Edwards?. 

Illustrated .' 50 

Wives  and  Daughters.     By  Mrs.  Gaskell.     Il 
lustrated 60 

Recollections  of  Eton.     Illustrated 35 

Under  the  Ban.     By  M.  1'Abbe  *  *  * CO 

The  Rape  of  the  Gamp.     By  C.  W.  Mason.    Il 
lustrated  75 

Ereina;  or,  My  Father's  Sin.    By  R.  D.  Black- 
more  50 

What  1  le  Cost  1  ler.     By  James  Payn 40 

Green  Pastures  and  Piccadilly.    By  \Vm.  Black  50 

A  Young  Wife's  Story.     By  Harriette  Bowra..  25 

A  Jewel  of  a  Girl.   By  the  Author  of  "  Queenie"  35 

An  Open  Verdict.     By  Miss  M.  E.  Braddon. . .  35 

A  Modern  Minister.     Vol.  I.     Illustrated 35 

A  Modern  Minister.     Vol.11.     Illustrated....  40 

Young  Musgrave.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant 40 

Two  tales  of  Married  Life.     By  Georgiana  M. 

Craik  and  M.  C.  Stirling 30 

The  Last  of  the  Haddons.     By  Mrs.  Newman  25 

The  Wreck  of  the  "  Grosvenor" 30 

By  Proxy.     By  James  1  'ayn 35 

By  Celia's  Arbor.     By  Besant  and  Rice 50 

Deceivers  Ever.     By  Mrs.  Cameron 30 

Less  Black  than  We're  Painted.  By  James  Payn.  35 

Mine  is  Thine.     By  L.  W.  M.  Lockhart 40 

The  Primrose  Path.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant 50 

Macleod  of  Dare.     By  Wm.  Black.     Ill'd CO 

A  Castle  in  Spain.    By  James  De  Mille.    Illus 
trated  by  Abbey 50 


HARPER'S  LIBRARY  OF  AMERICAN  FICTION. 


CENTS 

1.  Esther  Pcnnefather.    By  Alice  Perry 75 

2.  Justine's  Lover? 60 

3.  Miriam's  Heritage.    A  Story  of  the  Delaware 

River.     By  Alma  Calder 75 

4.  Mag.    A  Story  of  To-Day 50 

5.  Colonel  Dunwodclie,  Millionaire.     A  Story  of 

To-Day 75 

6.  Kilrogan  Cottage.    By  Matilda  Despard 60 

7.  Blush  Rose?.     By  Clara  Francis  Morse 50  j 

8.  Old  Slip  Warehouse.    By  Mary  A.  Denison. ...  60  I 


CENTS 

9.  Like  Unto  Like.    By  Sherwood  Bonner 75 

10.  Cousin  Polly's  Gold  Mine.  By  Mrs.  A.  E.  Porter    40 

11.  The  Virginians  iu  Texas.    A  Story  for  Young 

Old  Folks  and  Old  Young  Folks.    By  Wil 
liam  M.  Baker 75 

12.  Captain    Nelson.     A   Romance    of   Colonial 

Days.    By  Samuel  Adams  Drake 75 

13.  A  Foreign  Marriage  ;  or,  Buying  a  Title 75 

14.  The  Virginia  Bohemians.     By  John  Esteu 
Cooke...     75 


PUBLISHED  BY  HAEPEE  &  BEOTHEES,  NEW  YOEK. 

HABPEU  &  BROTHERS  will  send  any  of  the  above  works  ly  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the 
United  States,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


HARPER'S  FRANKLIN  SQUARE  LIBRARY. 


1.  Is  He  Popenjoy  ?    A  Novel.    By  A.  Troll  ope. ..  20 

2.  The  History  of  a  Crime.    By  Victor  Hugo 10 

3.  The  Russians  of  To-Day 10 

4.  Paul  Kuox,  Pitman.    By  J.  B.  Harwood 10 

5.  My  Heart's  in  the  Highlands.    A  Novel 10 

6.  Henriette.    A  Novel.    By  Ernest  Danclet 10 

7.  Christine  Brownlee's  Ordeal.    By  M.  Patrick. .  15 

8.  A  Beautiful  Woman.    By  Leon  Brook 10 

9.  Honor's  Worth.    A  Novel.    By  Meta  Orred  ...  15 

10.  Kingsdene.     By  Hon.  Mrs.  Fetherstonhaugh..  10 

11.  Clevedeu.    A  Novel.    By  Stephen  Yorke 10 

12.  The  People  of  Turkey 15 

13.  The  Young  Duke.    A  Novel.    By  B.  Disraeli..  15 

14.  Haverholme.    A  Satire.    By  E.  Jenkins 10 

15.  "Bonnie  Lesley."  A  Novel.   By  Mrs.  H.  Martin  10 
1C.  The  Earl  of  Beaconsfleld.    With  Two  Portraits  10 
IT.  Selected  Poems  of  Matthew  Arnold 10 

18.  Bubble  Reputation.    A  Novel.    By  K.  King. ..  15 

19.  Among  Aliens.    By  Mrs.  F.  E.  Trollope.    Ill'd  15 

20.  Guy  Livingstone.  A  Novel.   By  G.  A.  Lawrence  10 

21.  Time  Shall  Try.    A  Novel.    By  Mrs.  Notley. . .  15 

22.  Evelina.    A  Novel.    By  Frances  Burn ey 15 

23.  The  Bachelor  of  the  Albany.    A  Novel 10 

24.  Auld  Lang  Syne.    A  Novel 10 

25.  MacleodofDare.    A  Novel.    By  William  Black  15 
2G.  Mistletoe  Bough.    Edited  by  M.  E.Braddon...  15 

27.  Rare,  Pale  Margaret.    A  Novel 10 

28.  Love's  Crosses.    A  Novel.    By  F.  E.  M.  Notley  15 

29.  Light  and  Shade.  A  Novel.  By  C.  G.  O'Brien..  10 

30.  Christians  and  Moors  of  Spain.  ByC.M.Yonge  10 

31.  Elinor  Drydeu.  A  Novel.    By  K.  S.  Macqnoid. .  15 

32.  The  Irish  Bar.    By  J.  Roderick  O'Flanagan ... .( 15 

33.  Last  Days  of  Pompeii.   A  Novel.   By  E.  Buhver  15 

34.  Through  Asiatic  Turkey.    By  G  rattan  Geary. .  15 

35.  Sport  and  Work  on  the  Nepaul  Frontier 10 

30.  Jane  Eyre.    A  Novel.    By  Charlotte  Bronte. . .  15 

31.  An  Eye  for  an  Eye.    A  Novel.    By  A.  Trollope  10 

38.  Man  and  Wife.    A  Novel.    By  Wilkie  Collins. .  20 

39.  A  True  Marriage.   A  Novel.    By  Emily  Spender  15 

40.  Kelverdale.    A  Novel.    By  the  Earl  of  Desart..  15 

41.  Within  Sound  of  the  Sea.    A  Novel 10 

42.  Last  of  Her  Line.    A  Novel.     By  E.  Tabor 15 

43.  Vixen.    A  Novel.    By  M.  E.  Braddon 15 

44.  Within  the  Precincts.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant 15 

45.  All  or  Nothing.    A  Novel.    By  Mrs.  Hoey 15 

40.  The  Plague  in  London.    By  Daniel  Defoe 10 

47.  The  Grahams  of  Invermoy.    By  M.  C.  Stirling.  15 

48.  Coward  Conscience.    By  F.  W.  Robinson 15 

49.  The  Cloven  Foot.  A  Novel.  By  M.E.  Braddon  15 

50.  Quaker  Cousins.    By  Agues  Macdonell 15  j 

51.  The  Sherlocks.    A  Novel.   By  John  Saunders..  15 

52.  That  Artful  Vicar.    A  Novel 15 

53.  Under  One  Roof.    A  Novel.    By  James  Payn. .  15 

54.  Eothen.    By  Alexander  William  Kinglake 10 

55.  "  For  a  Dream's  Sake."    By  Mrs.  H.  Martin 15 

56.  Lady  Lee's  Widowhood.     By  E.  B.  Hamley 15 

57.  History  of  OurOwu  Time?.  By  J.McCarthy.  No.I  20 
57a.  History  of  Our  Own  Times.    No.  II 20 

58.  Basildon.    A  Novel.    By  Mrs.  Alfred  W.  Hunt  15 

59.  John  Halifax.    A  Novel.    By  Miss  Mulock....  15 

60.  Orange  Lily.    A  Novel.    By  May  Crommeliu . .  10 

61.  Theophrastus  Such.    By  George  Eliot 10 

62.  Zulus  and  the  British  Frontiers.  By  T.  J.  Lucas  10 

63.  John  Caldigate.    A  Novel.     By  A.  Trollope. . .  15 

64.  House  of  Lys.    A  Novel.    By  W.  G.  Ilamley. . .  15 


CENTS. 

65.  Henry  Esmond.     By  W.  M.  Thackeray 15 

66.  Life  of  Charles  Lever.    By  W.  J.  Fitzpatrick. .  15 

67.  Mr.  Leslie  of  Underwood.    By  Mary  Patrick. .  15 
OS.  The  Green  Hand.    By  George  Cupples 15 

69.  Dorcas.    A  Novel.    By  Georgiaua  M.  Craik. . .  15 

70.  The  Gypsy.    A  Novel.    By  G.  P.  R.  James. . .  20 

71.  The  Life  of  Charles  James  Mathews 15 

72.  Moy  O'Brien.     A  Novel 10 

73.  Framley  Parsonage.  A  Novel.   By  A.  Trollope  15 

74.  The  Afghan's  Knife.    By  R.  A.  Sterndale 15 

75.  The  Two  Miss  Flemings.    A  Novel 15 

76.  Rose  Mervyn.    A  Novel.    By  Anne  Beale 15 

77.  Reuben  Davidger.    By  James  Greenwood 15 

78.  The  Talisman.    By  Sir  W.  Scott,  Bart.    Ill'd..  15 

79.  The  Pickwick  Papers.    By  Charles  Dickens..  20 

80.  Madge  Dunraven.    A  Tale 10 

81.  Young  Mrs.  Jardine.     By  Miss  Mulock 10 

82.  Poems  of  Wordsworth.    Edited  by  M.  Arnold  15 

83.  Cousin  Henry.    A  Novel.    By  A. Trollope....  10 

84.  Sense  and  Sensibility.    By  Jane  Austen 15 

85.  The  Bertrams.    A  Novel.    By  A.  Trollope. ...  15 

86.  The  Fugitives.    A  Story.    By  Mrs. Oliphant..  10 

87.  The  Parson  o'  Dumford.    By  G.  M.  Feun 15 

88.  High  Spirits.    By  James  Payn 15 

89.  The  Mistletoe  Bough  for  Christmas,  1879 10 

90.  The  Egoist.    A  Novel.    By  George  Meredith.  15 

91.  Bells  of  Penraven.  A  Novel.  By  B.  L.  Farjeon  10 

92.  A  Few  Months  in  New  Guinea.  By  O.  C.  Stone  10 

93.  A  Doubting  Heart.  A  Novel.  By  Annie  Keary  15 

94.  Little  Miss  Primrose.    A  Novel.    By  E.  Tabor  15 

95.  Donna  Quixote.    A  Novel.    By  J.  McCarthy..  15 

96.  Nell— On  and  Off  the  Stage.    By  B.  H.  Bnxton  15 

97.  98,  9Sa.  Memoirs  of  Madame  De  Remusat. 

1S02-180S.    3  Parts  (Part  III.  Ill'd),  each. ...  10 
99.  Sweet  Nelly,  my  Heart's  Delight.    A  Novel. 

By  James  Rice  and  Walter  Besant 10 

100.  The  Minister  Circuit.    By  J.  R.  O'Flauagan..  15 

101.  Sir  John.    A  Novel 15 

102.  Greatest  Heiress  in  England.  ByMrs.Oliphant  15 

103.  Queen  of  the  Meadow.  A  Novel.  By  C.  Gibbon  15 

104.  Friend  and  Lover.    A  Novel.    By  I.  D.  Hardy  15 

105.  Cousin  Simon.    By  Hon.  Mrs.  R.  Marsham...  10 

106.  Mademoiselle  De  Mersac.    A  Novel 20 

107.  The  Nineteenth  Century.    By  R.  Mackenzie. .  15 

108.  Barbara.    A  Novel.    By  M.  E.  Braddon 15 

109.  A  Sylvan  Queen.     A  Novel 15 

110.  Tom  Singleton.    By  W.  W.  Follett  Synge 15 

111.  Return  of  the  Princess.    By  J  Vincent 10 

112.  Russia  Before  and  After  the  War 15 

113.  A  Wayward  Woman.    By  A.  Griffiths 20 

114.  Two  Women.    A  Novel.    By  G.  M.  Craik 15 

115.  Daireen.    A  Novel.    By  Frank  F.  Moore 15 

116.  For  Her  Dear  Sake.    A  Novel.    By  M.  C.  Hay  15 

117.  Prince  Hugo.    A  Novel 15 

118.  From  Generation  to  Generation.    A  Novel. 

By  Lady  Augusta  Noel 15 

119.  Young  Lord  Peurith.    By  J.  B.  Harwood 15 

120.  Clara  Vaughan.  A  Novel.  By  R.  D.  Blackmore  15 

121.  The  Heart  of  Holland.    By  Henry  Havard —  10 

122.  Reata.    A  Novel.    By  E.  D.  Gerard 20 

123.  Mary  Anerley.   A  Novel.   By  R.  D.  Blackmore  15 

124.  The  Pennant  Family.    A  Novel.    By  A.  Beale  15 

125.  Poet  and  Peer.    A  Novel.    By  Hamilton  Aide  15 

126.  The  Duke's  Children.    By  A.  Trollope 20 

127.  The  Queen.    ByMrs.Oliphant    Illustrated..  25 


Harper's  Franklin  Square  Library. 


CENTS. 

128.  Miss  Bouverie.  A  Novel.  By  Mrs.  Molesworth  15 

129.  David  Armstrong.    A  Novel 10 

130.  Hypatia.    A  Novel.    By  Charles  Kingsley 20 

131.  Cape  Cod  and  All  Along  Shore.    Stories.    By 

Charles  Nordhoff 15 

132.  Life  of  .Tames  A.  Garfield.    By  Edmund  Kirke  20 

133.  Cross  Purposes.  A  Novel.  By  Cecilia  Fiudlay  10 

134.  Clear  Shining  After  Rain.    By  C.  G.  Hamilton  15 

135.  Pride  and  Prejudice.    A  Novel.    By  J.Austen  15 

136.  White  Wings:  A  Romance.  By  William  Black  20 

137.  Cast  Up  by  the  Sea.    By  Sir  S.  W.  Baker.  Ill'd  15 

138.  The  Mudfog  Papers,  &c.    By  Charles  Dickens  10 

139.  Lord  Brackenbnry.    By  Amelia  B.  Edwards. .  15 

140.  Memoir  of  the  Rev.  Sydney  Smith 15 

141.  Just  as  I  Am.    A  Novel.    By  M.  E.  Brad  don..  15 

142.  ASailor'sSweetheart.ANovel.ByW.C.Russell  15 

143.  Burns. — Goldsmith. — Bunyan 15 

144.  Johnson.— Scott.— Thackeray 20 

145.  Three  Recruits.    A  Novel.    By  J.  Ilattou. ....  15 
14G.  Early  History  of  C.  J.  Fox.  By  G.  O.  Trevelyan  20 
147.  Horace  McLean.    A  Novel.    By  A.  O'Hanlon . .  15 
14S.  From  the  Wings.    A  Novel.    By  B.  H.  Buxtou  15 

149.  He  That  Will  Not  When  He  May.    A  Novel. 

By  Mrs.  Oliphant 15 

150.  Endymion.    By  the  Earl  of  Beaconsfield 15 

151.  Duty.    By  Samuel  Smiles 15 

152.  A  Confidential  Agent.     By  James  Payn 15 

153.  Love  and  Life.     A  Novel.    By  C.  M.  Yonge ...  15 

154.  The  Rebel  of  the  Family.    By  E.  L.  Liu  ton ...  20 

155.  Dr.  Wortle's  School.    By  A.  Trollope 15 

156.  Little  Pansy.    A  Novel.    By  Mrs.  Randolph..  20 

157.  The  Dean's  Wife.    By  Mrs.  C.  J.  Eiloai  t 20 

15S.  The  Posy  Ring.   A  Novel.   By  Mrs.  A.W.  Hunt  10 

159.  Better  than  Good.    A  Story.    By  A.  E.  Ridley  15 

160.  Under  Life's  Key,  &c.    By  Mary  Cecil  Hay. ..  15 
1C1.  Asphodel.    A  Novel.    By  M.  E.  Braddon 15 

162.  Sunrise.    A  Novel.    By  William  Black 15 

163.  Glen  of  Silver  Birches.    By  E.  O.  Blackburne  15 

164.  Social  Etiquette  and  Home  Culture 20 

165.  The  Wards  of  Plotinus.    By  Mrs.  J.  Hunt  ....  20 

166.  Reminiscences  by  Thomas  Carlyle 20 

167.  His  Little  Mother,  &c.    By  Miss  Mulock 10 

168.  Life  of  George  IV.    Part  I.    By  P.  Fitzgerald  20 

169.  Life  of  George  IV.    Part  II.    By  P.  Fitzgerald  20 

170.  Into  the  Shade,  &c.    By  Mary  Cecil  Hay 15 

171.  Ceesar.    A  Sketch.    By  J.  A.  Fronde 20 

172.  Memoirs  of  Prince  Mettcrnich.     Part  1 20 

173.  Memoirs  of  Prince  Metternich.    Part  II 20 

174.  Memoirs  of  Prince  Metternich.     Part  III 20 

175.  Memoirs  of  Prince  Metternich.    Part  IV 20 

176.  From  Exile.    A  Novel.    By  James  Payu 15 

177.  Miss  Williamson's  Divagations.    Stories.    By 

Miss  Thackeray 15 

178.  Thomas  Carlyle.    By  William  Howie  Wylie..  20 

179.  Lord  Beaconsfield.    A  Study.    By  G.  Brandes  15 
ISO.  Robinson  Crusoe 20 

181.  My  Love.    A  Novel.    By  Mrs.  E.  Lynn  Lintoii  20 

182.  Beside  the  River.    A  Tale.    By  K.  S.  Macquoid  20 

183.  Harry  Joscelyn.    A  Novel.    By  Mrs.  Oliphant  20 
1S4.  The  Miller's  Daughter.    A  Novel.    By  A.  Beale  20 

185.  Chaplain  of  the  Fleet.    By  Besant  and  Rice . .  20 

186.  My  First  Offer,  &c.    By  Mary  Cecil  Hay 15 

187.  Unbelief  in  the  18th  Century.    By  John  Cairns  20 

188.  Revised  Version  of  the  New  Testament 20 

189.  A  Child  of  Nature.  A  Novel.   By  R.  Buchanan  15 

190.  At  the  Seaside,  &c.    By  Mary  Cecil  Hay 15 


191.  CorrespondeuceofTalleyraudandLouisXVIII.  20 

192.  Visited  on  the  Children.    By  Theo.  Gift 20 

193.  A  Costly  Heritage.   A  Novel.   By  A.  O'Hanlon  20 

194.  An  Ocean  Free-Lance.  By  W.  Clark  Russell..  20 

195.  The  Beautiful  Wretch.    By  W.  Black.    Ill'd..  20 

196.  To-Day  in  America.    By  Joseph  Hatton 20 

197.  Ayala's  Angel.    A  Novel.    By  A.  Trollope.. ..  20 

198.  The  Neptune  Vase.    By  V.  W.  Johnson 20 

199.  Sydney.    A  Novel.    By  Georgiana  M.  Craik. .  15 

200.  Letters  of  Madame  De  Remusat 20 

201.  The  Black  Speck.    By  F.  W.  Robinson 10 

202.  Reseda.    A  Novel.    By  Mrs.  Randolph 20 

203.  Warlock  o'  Glen  warlock.    By  G.  Macdonald. .  20 

204.  With  Costs.    A  Novel.     By  Mrs.  Newman ....  15 

205.  The  Private  Secretary.    A  Novel 20 

206.  The  Cameronians.    A  Novel.    By  J.  Grant...  20 

207.  Sceptre  and  Ring.  A  Novel.   By  B.  II.  Buxton  20 

208.  Poetry  of  Byron.    Chosen  by  M.  Arnold 20 

209.  Ivy :  Cousin  and  Bride.    By  Percy  Greg 20 

210.  A  Life's  Atonement.    By  D,  C.  Murray 20 

211.  The  Braes  of  Yarrow.    By  Charles  Gibbon...  20 

212.  The  Mysteries  of  Heron  Dyke.    A  Novel 20 

213.  Christowell.    A  Tale.    By  R.  D.  Blackmore..  20 

214.  The  Comet  of  a  Season.    By  Justin  McCarthy  20 

215.  A  Laodicean.    A  Novel.    By  T.  Hardy.    2  Ill's  20 

216.  A  Grape  from  a  Thorn.    By  James  Payu 20 

217.  Giuseppe  Garibaldi.    By  Theodore  Bent.  Ill'd  20 

218.  Sir  Christopher  Wren.  By  L.  Phillimore.  2  Ill's  20 

219.  The  Question  of  Cain.    By  Mrs.  C.  Hoey 20 

220.  Civil  Service  in  Great  Britain.  By  D.  B.  Eaton  25 

221.  The  Captains'  Room.    By  Besant  and  Rice. . .  10 

222.  The  Dickens  Reader.    By  N.  Sheppard.   With 

Illustrations 25 

223.  The  Senior  Partner.    By  Mrs.  J.  II.  Riddell. . .  20 

224.  A  Heart's  Problem.    By  Charles  Gibbou 10 

225.  God  and  the  Man.     By  Robert  Buchanan 20 

226.  Marriages  of  the  Bouapartes.    By  the  Hon. 

D.  A.  Bingham 20 

227.  America:  A  History.     By  R.  Mackenzie 20 

228.  Memoirs  of  Prince  Metternich.    Part  V 20 

229.  One  May  Da}'.    A  Novel.    By  Miss  Grant 20 

230.  The  Constitutional  History  of  England  from 

1760  to  I860.   By  Charles  Duke  Yonge,  M.A.  25 

231.  The  Making  of  England.    By  John  R.  Green . .  2(1 

232.  Among  the  Ruins,  &c.    By  Mary  C.  Hay 15 

233.  Hesperothen.     By  W.  II.  Russell,  LL.D 20 

234.  Love  the  Debt.    A  Novel.    By  Basil 20 

235.  Beggar  my  Neighbor.    By  E.  D.  Gerard 20 

236.  Journals  of  Caroline  Fox.    1835  to  1871 20 

237.  Tom  Brown's  School  Days.    Illustrated 10 

238.  Till  Death  Us  Do  Part.    By  Mrs.  J.  K.  Spender  20 

239.  The  Fixed  Period.    By  A.  Trollope 15 

240.  Exchange  No  Robbery.     A  Novel.     By  M. 

Betham-Edwards.    Illustrated 15 

241.  Plain  Speaking.     By  Miss  Mulock 15 

242.  Dorothy's  Venture.   A  Novel.    By  M.  C.  Hay..  15 

243.  For  Cash  Only.    A  Novel.    By  James  Payn. .  20 

244.  Doctor  L'Estrauge.    A  Novel.    By  A.  Lyster..  20 

245.  246.  Thomas  Carlyle.    By  J.  A.  Froude.    Illus 

trated.    Two  vols.,  each 15 

247.  The  Queen  of  Bohemia.     By  J.  Hattou 15 

248.  Why  Frau  Frohman  Raised  her  Prices,  and 

Other  Stories.    By  Anthony  Trollope 10 

249.  Mount  Royal.    A  Novel.    By  M.E.  Braddon..  15 

250.  Marion  Fay.    A  Novel.    By  A.  Trollope.    Ill'd  20 

251.  Two  Old  Cats.    A  Novel.    By  V.  W.  Johnson  15 


Harper's  Franklin  Square  Library. 


CENTS. 

252.  Sermons   on   Special  Occasions.     By  Dean 

Stanley 20 

253.  Our  Set.     Stories.    By  Annie  Thomas 15 

254.  Milton Pope.— Cowper 20 

255.  Geraldine  and  her  Suitors.  By  M.C.M.Simpson  15 

256.  Amabel.    A  Novel.    By  Mrs.  E.  W.  Latimer. .  20 

257.  My  Irish  Journey  in  1849.    By  T.  Carlyle 10 

258.  Marjory.    A  Study 20 

259.  Lady  Jane.    A  Novel.    By  Mrs.  Oliphant 10 

2GO.  The  "Lady  Maud."    By  W.  C.  Russell.    Ill'd  20 

261.  "So  They  were  Married."    By  Besant  and 

Rice.    Illustrated 20 

262.  A  Model  Father.    A  Novel.    By  D.  C.  Murray  10 

263.  Unknown  to  History.    By  C.  M.  Yonge 20 

264.  My  Watch  Below.    By  W.  Clark  Russell 20 

265.  The  Minister's  Son.    By  M.  C.  Stirling 20 

266.  Fortune's  Marriage.  A  Novel.   By  G.  M.  Craik  20 
26T.  Egypt  Under  its  Khedives.    By  E.  De  Leon . .  20 

268.  Singleheart  and  Doubleface,  &c.    By  Charles 

Reade.     Illustrated. , 15 

269.  The  Knights  of  the  Horseshoe.    By  Dr.  Wm. 

A.  Caruthers 20 

270.  A  Strange  Journey 15 

271.  Self-Help.    By  Samuel  Smiles 20 

272.  Kept  in  the  Dark.    A  Novel.    By  A.  Trollope  15 

273.  A  Short  History  of  the  Kingdom  of  Ireland. 

By  C.  G.Walpole 25 

274.  Weighed  and  Wanting.    By  G.  Macdonald... .  20 

275.  Allerton  Towers.  A  Novel.  By  Annie  Thomas  20 

276.  An  Adventure  in  Thule.    By  W.  Black 10 

277.  All  Sorts  and  Conditions  of  Men.    A  Novel. 

By  Besant  and  Rice 20 

278.  Rachel's  Inheritance.    By  Miss  Veley 20 

279.  Daisies  and  Buttercups.  By  Mrs.  J.  H.  Riddell  20 
2SO.  Of  High  Degree.  A  Story.   By  Charles  Gibbon  20 

281.  The  Friendships  of  Mary  Russell  Mitford 25 

282.  The  Great  Diamonds  of  the  World 20 

253.  Flower  and  Weed.  A  Novel.  By  Miss  Braddon  10 

254.  No  Proof.     A  Novel.     By  Alice  O'Hanlou ....  20 

285.  Quits  at  Last.    By  R.  E.  Fraucillon 15 

2S6.  Val  Strange.    By  D.  C.  Murray 20 

287.  The  Golden  Shaft.    A  Novel.    By  C.  Gibbon . .  20 

288.  Kit:  a  Memory.    A  Novel.    ByJ.  Payn.    Ill'd  20 
2S9.  Gabrielle  De  Bourdaine.     A  Novel.    By  Mrs. 

John  K.  Spender 20 

290.  Dukesborough  Tales.  By  R.M.  Johnston.  Ill'd  25 

291.  George  Vanbrugh's  Mistake.     A  Novel.    By 

H.  Baden  Pritchard 20 

292.  My  Connaught  Cousins.    A  Novel 15 

293.  Character  Readings  from  "George  Eliot."  Se 

lected  and  arranged  by  N.  Sheppard.    Ill'd  25 

294.  It  Was  a  Lover  and  His  Lass.    A  Novel.    By 

Mrs.  Oliphant 20 

295.  Bid  Me  Discourse.    A  Novel.    By  M.  C.  Hay. .  10 

296.  James  and  Philip  Van  Arteveld.   By  J.  Hutton  20 

297.  Shandou  Bells.  A  Novel.  By  Wm.  Black,  fll'd  20 

298.  Unspotted  from  the  World.   A  Novel.  By  Mrs. 

G.  W.  Godfrey 20 

299.  James  Nasmyth,  Engineer.    An  Autobiogra 

phy.    Edited  by  Samuel  Smiles 20 

300.  Who  is  Sylvia  ?    A  Novel.    By  A.  Price 20 


CENTS. 

301.  Wreck  of  the  "  Grosvenor."    By  W.  C.  Russell  15 

302.  Why  We  Laugh.    By  S.  S.  Cox 25 

303.  Daisy  Miller:  a  Study;  and  Other  Stories.    By 

Henry  James,  Jr 25 

304.  The  Hands  of  Justice.    A  Novel.    By  F.  W. 

Robinson 20 

305.  Stray  Pearls.    A  Novel.     By  C.  M.  Youge ....  15 

306.  The  Story  of  Melicent.     A  Novel.     By  Fayr 

Madoc 10 

307.  Letters  and  Memorials  of  Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  30 

308.  Mary  Barton.   A  Tale  of  Manchester  Life.  By 

Mrs.  Gaskell 20 

309.  No  New  Thing.    A  Novel.    By  W.  E.  Norris  25 

310.  Like  Ships  Upon  the  Sea.    A  Novel.    By  Mrs. 

F.  E.  Trollope 20 

311.  An  Outline  of  Irish  History.     By  Justin  H. 

McCarthy 15 

312.  The  Real  Lord  Byron.    By  J.  C.  Jeaffreson.. .  20 

313.  The  Ladies  Lindores.    A  Novel.    By  Mrs.  Oli 

phant 20 

314.  A  Sea  Queen.    A  Novel.    By  W.  Clark  Russell  20 

315.  Mongrels.    A  Novel.    By  T.  Wilton 20 

316.  Honest  Davie.    A  Novel.    By  Frank  Barrett..  20 

317.  Mr.  Scarborough's   Family.     A  Novel.     By 

Anthony  Trollope 20 

318.  Arden.    A  Novel.    By  A.  Mary  F.  Robinson. .  15 

319.  Yolande.    A  Novel.    By  William  Black.    Il 

lustrated 20 

320.  Frederick  II.  and  Maria  Theresa.    By  Due  de 

Broglie.    Translated  by  Mrs.  Cashel  Hoey 
and  Mr.  John  Lillie 20 

321.  The  Brooklyn  Bridge.    By  W.  C.  Couant  and 

Montgomery  Schuyler.    Illustrated 20 

322.  The  Romantic   Adventures  of  a  Milkmaid. 

By  Thomas  Hardy.    Illustrated 10 

323.  Ant  Caesar  Ant  Nihil.     A  Novel.     By  the 

Countess  M.Von  Bothmer 20 

324.  The  Senior  Songman.    A  Novel 20 

325.  A  Foolish  Virgin.    A  Novel.    By  Ella  Weed..  20 

326.  What  Hast  Thou  Done?     A  Novel.     By  J. 

Fitzgerald  Molloy 15 

327.  Sir  Tom.    A  Novel.    By  Mrs.  Oliphant 20 

328.  Robert  Reid,  Cotton-spinner.    A  Novel.    By 

Alice  O'Hanlou 20 

329.  Disarmed.  A  Novel.  ByMissBetham-Edwards  15 

330.  Altiora  Peto.  A  Novel.   By  Laurence  Oliphant  20 

331.  Thicker  Than  Water.   A  Novel.    ByJas.  Payn  20 

332.  By  the  Gate  of  the  Sea.    A  Novel.    By  David 

Christie  Murray 15 

333.  The  New  Timothy.    A  Novel.    By  Rev.  Wm. 

M.  Baker 25 

334.  Pearla.    A  Novel.     By  Miss  M.  Betham-Ed- 

wards 20 

335.  Donal  Grant.    A  Novel.    By  Geo.  Macdonald  20 

336.  Phantom  Fortune.  A  Novel.  By  M.  E.  Braddon  20 

337.  A  Struggle  for  Fame.    A  Novel.    By  Mrs.  J. 

H.  Riddell 20 

338.  David,  King  of  Israel.    By  the  Rev.  William 

M.  Taylor,  D.D 25 

339.  Hearts.    A  Novel.    By  David  Christie  Murray  20 

340.  A  Book  of  Sibyls.    By  Miss  Thackeray 15 


PUBLISHED   BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

HARPER  &  BEOTUEES  will  send  any  of  the  above  ivorks  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the 
United  States,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


HARPER'S  HALF-HOUR  SERIES. 


CENTS. 

1.  The  Turks  in  Europe.    By  Edward  A.  Freeman  15 

2,  3.  Tales  from  Shakespeare.     By  Charles  and 

Mary  Lamb.    Comedies,  25  cts.    Tragedies..  25 

4.  Thompson  Hall.     By  Anthony  Trollope.     Ill'd  20 

5.  When  the  Ship  Conies  Home.    By  Walter  Be- 

sant  and  James  Rice 25 

C.  Oliver  Cromwell.    By  Kiiatchbull-IIugessen...  20 
7-14.  Epochs  of  English  History. 

7.  Early  England,  up  to  the  Norman  Conquest. 

By  F.  York- Powell.    With  Four  Maps 25 

S.  England  a  Continental  Power,  1066-1216.  By 
Louise  Crei^hton.     With  a  Map 25 

9.  Rise  of  the  People,  and  Growth  of  Parlia 
ment,  1215-1485.    By  J.  Rowley,  M.A.     With 

4  Maps 25 

10.  The  Tudors  and  the  Reformation,  1485-1 G03. 
By  M.  Creighton,  M.A.     With  3  Maps 25 

11.  The  Struggle  against  Absolute  Monarchy, 
1603-16SS.     By  B. Iff.  Cordery.     With  2  Maps  25 

12.  The  Settlement  of  the  Constitution,  1689  to 
1784.    By  J.  Rowley,  M.A.    With  4  Map*. . . .  25 

13.  England  during  the  American   and  Euro 
pean  Wars,  1765  to  1820.    By  O.  W.  Tancock, 
M.A.    With  5  Maps 25 

14.  Modern  England,  1820  to  1874.    By  Oscar 
Browning,  M.A 25 

15.  University  Life  in  Ancient  Athens.    By  W.  W. 

Capes 25 

16.  Greek  Literature.    By  Eugene  Lawrence 25 

17.  Latin  Literature.    By  Eugene  Lawrence 25 

18.  Dieudonne'e.    By  Geraldine  Butt 2<> 

19.  The  Time  of  Roses.    By  Geraldine  Butt 20 

20.  The  Jilt.     By  Charles  Reade.    Illustrated 20 

21.  TheMillofSt.IIerbot.    By  K.  S.  Macquoid....  20 

22.  The  House  on  the  Beach.    By  George  Meredith  20 

23.  Kate  Cronin's  Dowry.    By  Mrs.  Cashel  Hoey..  15 

24.  Peter  the  Great.    By  John  Lothrop  Motley...  25 

25.  Percy  and  the  Prophet.    By  Wilkie  Collins....  20 

26.  Cooking  Receipts.    From  Harper's  Bazar '25 

27.  Virginia.    A  Roman  Sketch 25 

28.  Jews  and  their  Persecutors.     By  E.  Lawrence.  20 

29.  Amos  Barton.    By  George  Eliot 20 

30.  Mr.  GilnTs  Love  Story.    By  George  Kliot 20 

31.  Janet's  Repentance.     By  George  Eliot 20 

32.  The  A  B  C  of  Finance.     By  Simon  Newcomb. .  25 

33.  Mediaeval  Literature.    By  Eugene  Lawrence...  25 

34.  Warren  Hastings.    By  Lord  Macaulay 25 

35.  Addison.    By  Lord  Macaulay 25 

36.  Lord  Clive.    By  Lord  Macaulay 25 

37.  Frederic  the  Great.    By  Lord  Macaulay 25 

3S.  The  Earl  of  Chatham.    By  Lord  Macaulay 25 

39.  William  Pitt.    By  Lord  Macaulay 25 

40.  Samuel  Johnson,  LL.D.     By  Lord  Macaulay ...  25 

41.  Hampden Lord  Burleigh.     By  Macaulay 25 

42.  Sir  William  Temple.    By  Lord  Macaulay 25 

43.  Machiavelli.— Horace  Walpole.     By  Macaulay.  25 

44.  John  Milton.— Lord  Byron.    By  Lord  Macaulay  25 

45.  My  Lady's  Money.    Related  by  Wilkie  Collins  25 

46.  Poor  Zeph  !    By  F.  W.  Robinson 20 

47.  Shepherds  All  'and  Maidens  Fair.    By  Walter 

Besant  and  James  Rice 25 

48.  Back  to  Back.     By  Edward  Everett  Hale 25 

49.  The  Spanish  Armada.     By  Alfreu  II.  Guernsey  20 

50.  Da  Capo.    By  Anne  Isabella  Thackeray 20 

51.  The  Bride  of'Landeck.    By  G.  P.  R.  James  ....  20 

52.  Brother  Jacob. -Lifted  Veil.      By  Geo.  Eliot..  20 

53.  A  Shadow  on  the  Threshold.    By  M.  C.  Hay. . .  20 

54.  David's  Little  Lad.     By  L.  T.  Meade 25 

55.  Count  Moltke's  Letters  from  Russia 25 

56.  Constantinople.     By  James  Bryce 15 

57-59.  English    Literature    Primers.     By    Eugene 

Lawrence:  57.  Romance  Period. — 58.  Classi 
cal  Period.— 59.  Modern  Period each  25 

60.  Tender  Recollections  of  Irene  Macgillicuddy  . .  15 

61.  Georgie's  Wooer.    By  Mrs.  Leith-Adams 20 

62.  Seven  Years  and  Mair.    By  Anna  T.  Sadlier. . .  20 

63.  A  Sussex  Idyl.     By  Clementina  Black 25 

64.  Goldsmith.— Bunyan.— Madame  D'Arblay.    By 

Lord  Mncaulay 25 

65.  The  Youth's  Health-Book 2.r> 

66.  Reaping  the  Whirlwind.    By  Mary  Cecil  Hay. .  20 

67.  A  Year  of  American  Travel.    By  Mrs.  Fremont  25 

68.  German  Literature.     By  Helen  S.  Conant 25 

69.  The  Coming  Man.    By  Charles  Reade 20 

70.  Hints  to  Women  on  the  Care  of  Property.    By 

Alfred  Walker 20 

71.  The  Curate  of  Orsiures.    By  Otto  Roqnette 20 


CENT8. 

72.  The  Canoe  and  Flying  Proa.    By  W.  L.  Alden  25 

73.  Back  to  the  Old  Home.    By  Mary  Cecil  Hay. .  20 

74.  The  Lady  of  Lauuay.     By  Anthony  Trollope..  20 

75.  Sir  Roger  deCoverley.   From  "The  Spectator"  25 

76.  Pottery  Painting.     By  John  C.  L.  Spaikes 20 

77.  Squire  Paul.    By  Hans  Warring 25 

78.  Professor  Pressensee.    By  John  Esten  Cooke  25 

79.  The  Romance  of  a  Back  Street.     By  F.  W. 

Robinson 15 

SO.  Behind  Blue  Glasses.    By  F.  W.  Hackliinder.  20 

81.  Rufus  Choate.    By  Edwin  P.  Whipple 15 

82.  Daisy  Miller.    A  Study.    By  Henry  James,  Jr.  20 
S3.  Spanish  Literature.    By  Mrs.  Helen  S.  Conant  25 

84.  A  Dark  Inheritance.     By  Mary  Cecil  Hay 15 

85.  The  Vicar  of  Wakefleld.    By  Oliver  Goldsmith  25 

86.  Stories  from  Virgil.     By  A.  J.  Church 25 

87.  Our  Professor.     By  Mrs.  E.  Lynn  Linton 15 

S8.  The  Sorrow  of  a  Secret.    By  Mary  Cecil  Hay. .  15 

89.  Lady  Carmichael's  Will,  £c 15 

90.  'Twas  in  Trafalgar's  Bay.    By  Besant  and  Rice  20 

91.  An  International  Episode.     By  II.  James,  Jr.  20 

92.  The  Adventures  of  Ulysses.    By  Charles  Lamb  25 

93.  Oliver  Goldsmith's  Plays 25 

94.  Oliver  Goldsmith's  Poems 20 

95.  Modern  France.    By  George  M.  Towle 25 

90.  Our  Village.    By  Miss  MItford 25 

97.  Afghanistan.     By  A.  G.  Constable 15 

9S.  John.    By  Thomas  W.  Knox 20 

99.  The  Awakening.    By  Katharine  S.  Macquoid.  15 

100.  Ballads  of  Battle  and  Bravery 25 

101.  Six  Months  on  a  Slaver.   By  Edward  Manning  20 

102.  Healthy  Houses.     By  Fleeming  Jenkin 25 

103.  Mr.  Grantley's  Idea.    By  John  Esten  Cooke  . .  25 

104.  The  Four  Georges.    By  W.  M.  Thackeray 25 

105, 106.  The  English  Humorists.  By  W.  M.  Thack 
eray.    In  2  vols.    Each 25 

107.  Half -II our    History    of    England.      By   M. 

Creightoir 25 

108.  Lord  Bacon.    By  Lord  Macaulay 25 

109.  My  Sister's  Keeper.    By  Laura  M.  Lane 20 

110.  Gaspard  de  Coligny.    By  Walter  Besant,  M.A.  25 

111.  Tales  from  Euripides.     By  V.  K.  Cooper 20 

112.  The  Task.     By  William  Cowper 20 

113.  History.— Hallam's  Constitutional  History.  By 

Lord  Macaulay 25 

114.  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel.    By  Sir  W.  Scott,  Bt,  20 
115    Marmion.    By  Sir  Walter  Scott,  Bart 25 

1 16.  The  Lady  of  the  Lake.    By  Sir  W.  Scott,  Bart.  25 

117.  The  Lover's  Tale.    By  Alfred  Tennyson 10 

118.  Wassail.    By  Colonel  Charles  Hamley 20 

119.  Modern  Whist.    By  Fisher  Ames 20 

120.  The  Rivals  and  The  School  for  Scandal.    By 

Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan 25 

121.  Holidays  in  Eastern  France.     By  M.  B.  Ed 

wards 25 

122.  Labor  and  Capital  Allies — Not  Enemies.    By 

Edward  Atkinson 20 

123.  Chapters  on  Ants.    By  Mary  Treat 20 

124.  Bar-Maid  at  Battleton.    By  F.  W.  Robinson..  15 

125.'  Burning  their  Ships.    By  Barnet  Phillips 20 

126.  Food  and  Feeding.    By  Sir  Henry  Thompson  20 
127    The  Origin  of  the  English  Nation.    By  Ed 
ward  A!  Freeman,  D.C.L.,  LL.1) 25 

128.  The  Sunken  Rock.    By  George  Cupples 15 

129    American  Ballads.    By  Thos.  Dunn  English. .  25 

130.  Golden-Rod.    An  Idyl  of  Mount  Desert 25 

131.  Tales  from  the  Odyssey  for  Boys  and  Girls  ...  25 

132.  Othello  the  Second.    By  F.  W.  Robinson 20 

133.  American  Literature.    By  Eugene  Lawrence..  25 

134.  Life  of  Charlemagne.     By  Eginhard 20 

135.  The  Diary  of  a  Man  of  Fifty.— A  Bundle  of 

Letters.    By  Henry  James,  Jr 25 

136.  Fellow-Townsmen.    By  Thomas  Hardy 20 

137.  W.  E.  Gladstone.    By  Henry  W.  Lucy 20 

13S.  British  and  American  Education.     By  Mayo 

W.  Hazeltine 25 

139.  Mrs.  Austin.    By  Margaret  Veley 25 

140.  Business  Life  in  Ancient  Rome.     By  C.  G. 

Herbermann 20 

141.  The  National  Banks.    By  II.  W.  Richardson..  25 
142   Life  Sketches  of  Macaulay.   By  Chas.  Adams, 

D.D 25 

143.  Republican  or  Democrat? 15 

144.  Modern  France.    By  Oscar  Browning 25 

145.  Missing.    By  Mary'Cecil  Hay 20 

146.  A  Primer  of  French  Literature.    By  G.  Saints- 

bury • 25 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

T  HAUPEB  &  BBOTIJEKS  will  send  any  of  the  above  works  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the 
United  States,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


A   CASTLE    IN   SPAIN 


Hood 


BY  JAMES  ,DE   MILLE 


AUTHOR  OF  ."CORD  AND   CREESE"   "THE   CRYPTOGRAM"   "THE  DODGE  CLUB; 
"THE  LIVING  LINK"  "THE  AMERICAN   BARON"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED   BY  E.  A.  ABBEY 


NEW    YORK 

HARPER    &     BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS 

FRANKLIN    SQUARE 


JAMES  DE  MILLE'S  WORKS. 


A  CASTLE   IN  SPAIN.     A  Novel.     Illustrated  by  E.  A.  ABBEY. 
Svo,  Paper,  50  cents;  Cloth,  $1.00. 

THE  DODGE  CLUB;    OR,  ITALY  IN  1859.      Illustrated.      Svo, 
Paper,  60  cents;  Cloth,  $1.10. 

CORD  AND  CREESE.    A  Novel.    Illustrated.    Svo,  Paper,  60  cents. 
THE  CRYPTOGRAM.    A  Novel.    Illustrated.    Svo,  Paper,  75  cents. 

THE   AMERICAN   BARON.     A    Novel.     Illustrated.     Svo,  Paper, 
50  cents. 

THE  LIVING  LINK.    Illustrated.    Svo,  Paper,  60  cts. ;  Cloth,  $1.10. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

A  ny  of  the  above  -works  ivill  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  f>art  of  the 
United  States,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


Copyright,  1878,  by  JAMES  DE  MILLE.— Copyright,  1883,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 


-: 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

HOW  A  PARTY  OF  TRAVELLERS  SET  OUT  ON  A 
JOURNEY. 

THE  train  for  the  North  was  about  to 
start  from  Madrid,  and  the  station  was  filled 
with  the  usual  varied  and  bustling  crowd. 
Throngs  of  soldiers  were  there;  throngs 
of  priests  ;  throngs  of  civilians ;  throngs  of 
peasants ;  all  moving  to  and  fro,  intermin 
gled  with  the  railway  employes,  and  show 
ing  the  power  of  steam  to  stir  up  even  the 
lazy  Spaniard  to  unwonted  punctuality  and 
portentous  activity.  In  the  midst  of  this 
busy  scene  two  men  stood  apart,  each  by 
himself,  with  eyes  fixed  upon  the  entrance, 
as  though  expecting  some  one  whose  ad 
vent  was  of  no  ordinary  importance.  One 
of  these  was  an  unmistakable  Spaniard, 
of  medium  size,  dark  complexion,  penetrat 
ing  black  eyes,  and  sombre  countenance. 
His  dress  was  that  of  a  civilian,  but  his 
bearing  was  military,  and  his  face  and  gen 
eral  expression  savored  of  the  camp.  The 
other  was  an  Englishman,  with  all  his  coun 
try  beaming  in  his  face,  tall  in  stature,  light 
in  complexion,  with  gray  eyes,  and  open, 
frank  expression.  He  had  a  thin  mus 
tache,  flaxen  side  whiskers,  and  no  beard. 
He  stood  in  an  easy,  nonchalant  attitude, 
with  an  eye-glass  stuck  in  one  eye,  and  a 
light  cane  in  his  hand,  which  he  switched 
carelessly  upon  his  leg. 

At  length  the  two  were  roused  by  the 
approach  of  a  party  of  people  who  were 
undoubtedly  the  very  ones  for  whom  they 
had  been  thus  waiting. 

This  party  consisted  of  three  persons. 
First,  there  was  an  elderly  man,  florid, 
stoutish,  and  fussy — the  Paterfamilias  of 
Punch,  with  a  clash  of  the  heavy  father  of 
comedy.  He  was  evidently  in  a  terrible 
strait,  and  halting  between  two  opinions, 


namely,  whether  he  should  stay  and  watch 
over  his  family,  or  go  away  and  see  after 
his  luggage. 

Then  there  was  a  lady  of  certain  or  un 
certain  age  — a  faded,  washed-out  blonde, 
who  surveyed  the  scene  with  a  mixture  of 
trepidation  and  caution. 

Neither  of  these,  however,  could  have 
had  any  interest  in  the  eyes  of  the  two 
watchers ;  and  it  must  have  been  the  third 
member  of  this  party  who  had  led  them  to 
lie  in  wait. 

In  truth,  this  third  one  seemed  well 
worthy  of  such  attention.  She  was  a 
young  lady,  of  slight  and  elegant  figure; 
with  a  sweet  and  lovely  face,  round,  arch, 
full  of  liveliness,  merriment,  and  volatility, 
which  were  expressed  in  every  glance  of 
her  sparkling  eyes.  And  while  the  man 
fidgeted  and  the  woman  fussed,  this  young 
person  stood  with  admirable  self-posses 
sion,  looking  round  inquiringly,  as  though 
she  too  might  be  expecting  some  one. 

Paterfamilias  hesitated  a  little  longer, 
and  then  made  up  his  mind,  for,  telling  the 
ladies  to  wait,  he  hurried  away  after  his 
luggage.  No  sooner  had  he  gone  than  the 
two  young  men,  who  had  held  back  till 
then,  hurried  to  the  spot.  The  English 
man  reached  it  first.  The  elder  lady,  on 
seeing  him,  stared  for  an  instant,  and  then 
abruptly  turned  her  back,  thus  giving  him 
the  cut  direct  in  the  most  pointed  and  in 
sulting  manner.  In  thus  turning  she  found 
herself  face  to  face  with  the  Spaniard,  who 
made  a  very  ceremonious  bow,  saying, 

"It  gif  me  mooch  pleasure, Madame  Eus- 
sell,  to  pay  my  respetts,  an'  to  weesh  the 
good-day." 

At  this  the  lady  hesitated,  as  though  in 
tending  to  give  this  man  also  the  cut,  but 
finally  she  chose  to  be  gracious ;  so  extend 
ing  her  hand,  she  said, 


10 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


"  Thanks,  Captain  Lopez,  I'm  glad  to  see 
you,  for  Mr.  Russell  has  left  us,  and  I'm  a 
little  frightened  in  this  crowd.1' 

"  Oh,  then,"  said  Lopez,  "  I  hope  to  haf 
the  honnaire  to  condut  you  to  the  carriage, 
and  to  say  the  adios." 

«  Oh,  thanks,"  said  Mrs.  Russell,  "  I  shall 
really  feel  very  much  obliged." 

Now  the  Englishman  had  scarcely  seem 
ed  to  notice  the  insult  of  Mrs.  Russell ;  for, 
brushing  past  her,  he  had  instantly  ad 
vanced  toward  the  young  lady  aforesaid, 
and  seized  her  hand  with  a  quick,  strong, 
hungry  grasp.  And  the  young  lady  afore 
said,  whose  eyes  had  been  fixed  on  him  as 
he  advanced,  grasped  his  hand  also,  while 
a  flush  passed  over  her  lovely  face,  and  her 
eyes  rested  upon  him  with  a  look  which 
might  well  thrill  through  and  through  the 
favored  recipient  of  such  a  glance. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Ashby !"  said  she,  in  innocent 
surprise — "  you  here  ?" 

K  Katie,"  said  Ashby,  in  a  tremulous  voice 
— "  little  darling,"  he  continued,  in  a  lower 
tone — "didn't  you  know  that  I'd  be  here?" 

"Well,  I  should  have  felt  disappointed," 
said  Katie,  softly,  "if  you  had  not  been 
here." 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Russell  turned,  and 
said,  sharply, 

"  Come,  Katie." 

"All  right,"  said  Ashby,  coolly;  "  I'll  see 
Miss  Westlotorn  on  board  the  train." 

Mrs.  Russell  looked  vexed. 

"  Katie,"  said  she,  "  I  wish  you  to  stay  by 
me." 

"Oh  yes, auntie  dearest,"  said  Katie, with 
her  usual  self-possession;  "of  course  I  shall." 

But  she  made  not  the  slightest  move 
ment  to  leave  Ashby,  and  this  annoyed 
Mrs.  Russell  all  the  more.  She  looked  all 
around,  as  though  for  help.  The  Spaniard's 
eyes  were  all  ablaze  with  wrath  and  jeal 
ousy. 

"  Madame  Russell,"  said  he,  in  an  eager 
voice, "  commanda  me,  I  beg,  I  shall  help." 

These  words  were  plainly  audible  to 
Ashby,  who,  however,  only  smiled! 

"  Madame,"  said  Lopez,  still  more  eager 
ly,  "commanda  me.  Shall  I  condut  the 
rnees  ?" 

For  a  moment  Mrs.  Russell  seemed  in 
clined  to  accept  the  proffered  aid,  but  it 
was  only  for  a  moment.  The  good  lady 
was  timid.  She  dreaded  a  scene.  A  quar 
rel  in  so  public  a  place  between  these  two 
jealous  and  hot-headed  youths  would  be 
too  terrible,  so  she  at  once  gave  way." 


"Oh  no,  no,"  she  said,  hurriedly. 
'Thanks,  Captain  Lopez,  I  think  I  shall 
ask  you  to  conduct  me  to  our  carriage. 
Mr.  Russell  will  be  with  us  immediately." 

Upon  this  Lopez  offered  his  arm,  which 
Mrs.  Russell  took,  and  they  both  went  off. 
Ashby  followed  slowly  with  Katie. 

"  Katie,"  said  he,  after  a  pause,  "  I'm  go 
ing  too." 

"  What !"  said  Katie,  in  a  joyous  voice, 

in  this  train  ?" 

"  Yes,  along  with  you." 

"How  perfectly  lovely!"  said  Katie — 
which  expression  showed  that  these  two 
were  on  very  good  terms  with  one  another. 
"  But  then,  you  know,"  she  resumed,  "  Mr. 
Russell  has  the  carriage  for  us  only." 

"  Oh,  well,  it's  aU  the  same,"  said  Ashby. 

I'm  going  on  in  the  same  train.  That 
will  be  happiness  enough.  But  see  here," 
he  added,  in  a  hurried  voice,  "  take  this  let 
ter  ;"  and  with  this  he  slipped  a  letter  into 
her  hand,  which  she  instantly  concealed  in 
her  pocket.  "  I'll  see  you  to-night  at  Bur 
gos,"  he  continued,  in  a  low  tone,  "  and 
then  at  Biarritz  or  Bayonne.  I  have  friends 
in  both  places.  You  must  do  what  I  ask 
you.  You  must  be  mine.  You  must,  dar 
ling.  Don't  mind  these  confounded  Rus- 
sells.  They're  nothing  to  you  compared 
with  me.  Russell  has  no  right  to  interfere. 
He's  not  your  uncle,  he's  only  a  miserable 
guardian ;  and  he's  a  contemptible  scoun 
drel  too,  and  I  told  him  so  to  his  face.  He's 
planning  to  get  you  to  marry  that  cad  of  a 
son  of  his.  But  read  my  letter.  Make  up 
your  mind  to-day,  darling.  I'll  see  you  to 
night  at  Burgos." 

Ashby  poured  forth  this  in  a  quiet,  low, 
earnest  voice  as  they  traversed  the  short 
space  that  lay  between  them  and  the  cars, 
while  Katie  listened  in  silence.  Meanwhile 
the  others  had  reached  a  carriage,  which 
Mrs.  Russell  entered :  Lopez  immediately 
followed. 

"  Oh,  look !"  cried  Katie ;  "  Captain  Lo 
pez  has  gone  into  our  carriage.  He  must 
be  going  to  travel  with  us." 

"The  infernal  sneak!"  growled  Ashby. 
"  But  then,"  he  continued,  "  what's  the  use 
of  that  ?  He  can't  go.  Why,  old  Russell 
hates  him  worse  than  me." 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Russell  put  forth 
her  head. 

"  Katie !"  she  called,  in  a  thin,  shrill 
voice. 

"  Yes,  auntie  dear,"  said  Katie. 
"In  a  moment,"  chimed  in  Ashby. 


DOLORES. 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


11 


"Perhaps  I'd  better  go,"  said  Katie; 
"  she's  so  horrid,  you  know." 

"  Then,"  said  Ashby,  "  good-bye  for  the 
present,  my  own  darling." 

Saying  this,  he  took  her  in  his  arms  and 
deliberately  kissed  her  two  or  three  times. 
Katie  then  darted  away  and  entered  the 
carriage,  to  find  Mrs.  Russell  speechless 
with  indignation. 

The  moment  Katie  had  gone,  up  came 
Russell  in  a  fury. 

"  Look  here,  sir  !"  he  cried,  shaking  his 
fist  at  Ashby.  "  I  say,  sir !  Look  here, 
sir !  You  scoundrel !  Didn't  I  tell  you — " 

"And  look  here,  you  !"  said  Ashby,  in  a 
stern  voice,  laying  his  hand  heavily  on  the 
other's  shoulder,  "  none  of  this  insolence, 
my  good  man,  or  I  shall  have  to  teach  you 
better  manners.  You  know  perfectly  well 
that  Katie  is  engaged  to  me,  and  that  I 
mean  to  make  her  my  wife." 

"  You  shall  never  !"  cried  Russell,  pas 
sionately  ;  "  never — never !" 

"  Pooh !"  exclaimed  Ashby,  contemptu 
ously. 

"  I'm  her  guardian,"  said  Russell. 

"  That  may  be,"  said  Ashby,  calmly, 
"  but  only  for  a  few  months  longer.  I  can 
wait.  Don't  be  alarmed." 

"  You  shall  never  marry  her  !" 

"  Pooh,  my  good  man !  attend  to  your 
luggage." 

Muttering  inarticulate  threats,  mingled 
with  curses,  Russell  now  stamped  off,  and 
entered  the  carriage.  Here  he  found  Lopez. 
At  the  sight  of  this  man  his  fury  burst  all 
bounds.  With  Ashby  he  had  felt  under 
some  restraint ;  but  with  Lopez  there  was 
nothing  of  the  kind,  and  he  ordered  him 
out  in  the  most  insulting  manner. 

Lopez,  however,  refused  to  stir,  telling 
him  that  Madame  Russell  had  given  him 
permission  to  remain. 

"  Madame  Russell  be  hanged  !"  roared 
the  other.  "  You  get  out  of  this,  or  else 
I'll  kick  you  out !" 

"  No,  seiior,"  said  Lopez,  coolly,  "  I  ad- 
visa  you  not  to  try  violencia." 

For  a  moment  Russell  measured  him 
from  head  to  foot;  but  the  sight  of  the 
sinewy  young  Spaniard  did  not  reassure 
him.  His  own  muscles  were  somewhat 
flabby,  and  by  no  means  fit  for  a  struggle 
with  this  vigorous  youth. 

So  he  chose  another  and  a  safer  mode. 
He  sprang  out  and  began  to  bawl  loudly 
for  the  guard.  But,  very  unfortunately,  Rus 
sell  could  not  speak  a  word  of  Spanish,  and 


when  the  guard  came  up  he  could  not  ex 
plain  himself.  And  so  Russell,  after  all, 
might  have  had  to  travel  with  his  unwel 
come  companion  had  not  an  unexpected 
ally  appeared  upon  the  scene.  This  was 
Ashby,  who  had  been  standing  by,  and 
had  comprehended  the  whole  situation. 
Now  Ashby  could  speak  Spanish  like  a 
native. 

"  See  here,  Russell,"  said  he,  "  I  don't 
mind  giving  you  a  lift.  What's  the  row  ?" 

Russell  hesitated  for  a  moment,  but  his 
rage  against  Lopez  had  quite  swallowed  up 
his  anger  at  Ashby,  and  he  accepted  the 
aid  of  the  latter.  So  he  went  on  to  ex 
plain  what  Ashby  very  wrell  knew — the  sit 
uation  in  the  carriage.  Ashby  thereupon 
explained  to  the  guard.  The  guard  then 
ordered  Lopez  out.  At  which  summons 
the  gallant  captain  thought  fit  to  beat  a 
retreat,  which  he  effected  in  good  order, 
drums  beating  and  colors  flying,  and  with 
many  expressions  of  polite  regret  to  the  la 
dies  and  many  wishes  for  a  pleasant  jour 
ney. 

Arriving  outside,  however,  our  noble  hi 
dalgo  found  the  blast  of  war  blowing,  and 
so  he  at  once  proceeded  to  stiffen  his  sin 
ews  and  summon  up  his  blood.  Taking 
no  notice  of  Russell,  he  advanced  to  Ashby. 

"  Seiior,"  said  he,  in  Spanish,  "  for  the 
part  that  you  have  taken  in  this  matter  I 
will  call  you  to  account." 

Ashby  smiled  disdainfully. 

"You  have  insulted  me,"  said  Lopez, 
fiercely.  "  This  insult  must  be  washed  out 
in  blood — your  heart's-blood  or  mine.  I 
am  going  in  this  train." 

"  Indeed  !     So  am  I,"  said  Ashby. 

"  We  shall  find  a  place — and  a  time." 

"  Whenever  you  please,"  said  the  other, 
shortly. 

"  Sefior,  I  will  communicate  with  you." 

Both  the  young  men  bowed,  and  with 
their  hearts  full  of  hate  they  separated  to 
take  their  places  in  the  train. 

And  now  at  this  particular  juncture  there 
came  forth  from  behind  a  pillar  a  female 
figure,  which  figure  had  been  there  for 
some  time,  and  had  closely  watched  the 
whole  of  Ashby's  proceedings  from  begin 
ning  to  end.  It  was  impossible  to  see  her 
face,  but  her  graceful  shape,  and  quiet,  ac 
tive  movements,  indicated  youth,  and  sug 
gested  possible  beauty.  This  figure  hast 
ened  toward  the  train,  and  entered  the  very 
carriage  into  which  Ashby  had  gone. 

The  next  moment  the  guard  banged  the 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


door  to  behind  her,  the  great  bell  rang,  the 
engine  puffed  and  snorted,  and  then,  with 
the  roar  of  steam,  the  clank  of  machinery, 
and  the  rumble  of  many  wheels,  the  long 
train  thundered  out  of  the  station  on  its 
eventful  journey  to  the  North. 


CHAPTER  II. 

HOW  MR.  ASHBY  MEETS  WITH  A  VERY  DEAR  AND 
VERY  LOVELY  YOUNG  FRIEND. 

ON  entering  the  carriage  Ashby  took  a 
seat  and  prepared  to  make  himself  comfort 
able  for  the  journey.  The  hurried  events 
of  the  last  few  minutes,  the  farewell  to  Ka 
tie,  the  prospect  of  a  new  meeting  at  Bur 
gos,  the  additional  prospect  of  a  hostile 
encounter  with  Lopez,  were  certainly  suffi 
cient  food  for  reflection.  Consequently  he 
was  in  a  fit  of  abstraction  so  profound  that 
he  did  not  notice  the  female  who  entered 
the  carriage. 

As  the  train  rolled  out,  the  new-comer 
also  made  herself  comfortable  in  her  seat, 
which,  being  opposite  to  that  of  Ashby, 
gave  her  the  opportunity  of  examining  his 
face  at  her  leisure,  if  she  felt  so  inclined, 
while  she  herself  \vas  so  closely  veiled  as 
to  baffle  recognition.  Her  dress,  though 
very  plain,  was  in  the  latest  fashion,  and 
she  wore  with  inimitable  grace  that  mar 
vellous  Spanish  mantilla  which  is  equally 
adapted  to  adorn  and  to  conceal.  Al 
though  in  the  opposite  seat,  she  was  not 
close  to  Ashby,  but  at  the  other  end  of  the 
carriage,  in  which  position  she  could  watch 
him  the  more  easily.  These  two  were  the 
only  occupants. 

Once  or  twice  Ashby's  eyes  fell  on  her 
as  he  raised  his  head  or  changed  his  posi 
tion  ;  but  he  paid  no  attention  to  her,  nor 
did  he  even  seem  aware  of  her  existence ; 
while  she  sat  veiled,  so  that  the  direction 
of  her  glance  could  not  be  seen. 

For  about  half  an  hour  the  situation  re 
mained  unaltered,  and  then  at  the  end  of 
that  time  the  lady  made  a  readjustment  of 
her  mantilla,  which  exposed  all  her  head 
and  face.  The  hands  which  were  raised  to 
perform  this  act  were  soft,  round,  plump, 
and  dimpled,  and  might  of  themselves  have 
attracted  the  admiration  of  one  less  preoc 
cupied  than  Ashby ;  while  the  face  that  was 
now  revealed  was  one  which  might  have 
roused  the  dullest  of  mortals.  It  was  a 
dark  olive  face,  with  features  of  exquisite 
delicacy ;  the  eyes  were  large,  lustrous,  and 


melting,  fringed  with  long  lashes ;  the  eye 
brows  delicately  pencilled;  the  hair  rich 
black,  glossy,  and  waving  in  innumerable 
ripples.  Her  cheeks  were  dimpled,  and 
her  lips  were  curved  into  a  faint  smile  as 
she  sat  with  a  demure  face  and  watched 
Ashby.  It  may  have  been  a  certain  mes 
merism  in  her  gaze,  or  it  may  only  have 
been  that  Ashby  had  at  last  grown  weary 
of  his  own  thoughts,  for  suddenly  he  look 
ed  up,  and  caught  her  eyes  fixed  thus  on 
him.  For  a  moment  an  expression  of  as 
tonishment  filled  his  face ;  then  the  smile 
of  the  lacly  deepened,  and  her  eyes  fell. 

At  this  Ashby  jumped  from  his  seat. 

"  By  heavens !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Dolo 
res  !  Oh,  Dolores !" 

He  uttered  these  words  with  a  strange 
intonation,  yet  there  was  joy  in  his  eyes 
and  in  the  tone  of  his  voice,  together  with 
the  wonder  that  had  been  at  first  display 
ed.  As  he  spoke  he  seized  her  hand  in 
both  of  his,  and,  holding  it  fast,  seated 
himself  in  the  place  immediately  opposite. 
After  a  moment  Dolores  drew  away  her 
hand  with  a  light  laugh. 

"Ah,  senor,"  said  she,  "you  do  not  seem 
very  quick  at  recognizing  your  old  ac 
quaintances." 

She  spoke  with  the  purest  Castilian  ac 
cent,  and  the  rich  and  mellow  tones  of  her 
voice  were  inexpressibly  sweet. 

"I — I — had  no  idea — no  idea  that  you 
were  anywhere  near.  You  were  the  last, 
the  very  last  person  that  I  could  have  ex 
pected  to  see.  How  could  I  expect  to  see 
you  here,  Dolores  ?  I  thought  that  you 
were  still  at  Valencia.  And  are  you  alone  ?" 

"  Yes — just  now — from  here  to  Burgos. 
I  am  on  my  way  to  visit  my  aunt  at  Pam- 
peluna.  She  is  ill.  Mamma  could  not 
come  with  me,  for  she  is  ill  too.  So  I  have 
to  travel  alone.  The  good  Tilda  came  with 
mo  to  Madrid,  but  had  to  return  to  mam 
ma.  There  was  no  time  to  seek  another 
companion.  Besides,  it  is  only  from  here 
to  Burgos." 

"  Oh,  Dolores,  little  Dolores !"  cried  Ash- 
by,  "  how  delightful  it  is  to  see  you  again  ! 
What  a  lucky  chance  !" 

"  But  it  was  not  altogether  chance,"  said 
Dolores. 

"How?" 

"  Why,  I  saw  you. 

"  Saw  me  ?" 

"  Yes ;  I  was  watching  you.  You  see,  I 
was  in  the  station  waiting  for  the  train,  and 
saw  you  come  in.  I  then  watched  you  all 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


13 


the  time  till  you  entered  this  carriage,  and 
then  I  came  here  too.  Now,  sir  1" 

Saying  this,  Dolores  tossed  her  pretty 
little  head  with  a  triumphant  air,  and 
smiled  more  bewitchingly  than  ever. 

"  You  see,"  she  continued,  in  the  frank 
est  and  most  engaging  manner,  "  I  was  so 
veiled  that  no  one  could  know  me,  and 
when  I  saw  you  I  was  very  glad  indeed ; 
and  I  thought  I  would  follow  you,  and 
speak  to  you,  and  see  if  you  had  any  re 
membrance  left  of  poor  little  me." 

For  a  moment  there  was  a  shade  of  em 
barrassment  on  Ashby's  face,  and  then  it 
passed.  He  took  her  hand  and  pressed  it 
fervently. 

"  Dolores,"  he  said—"  dear  little  friend  of 
mine,  I  can  never  forget  you  as  long  as  I 
live,  and  all  that  was  done  for  me  by  you 
and  yours.  This  sudden  meeting  with  you 
is  the  most  delightful  thing  that  could  pos 
sibly  have  happened." 

Dolores  laughed,  and  again  drew  her 
hand  demurely  away. 

"But  oh,  Senor  Ashby,"  she  said,  "how 
absent  you  were  in  the  station ! — and  here 
— not  one  look  for  the  poor  Dolores  1" 

"  Oh,  Dolores !"  said  Ashby,  in  a  tone  of 
tender  apology,  "  how  could  I  imagine  that 
it  was  you  ?  You  were  veiled  so  closely 
that  no  one  could  recognize  you.  Why 
did  you  not  speak  before  ?" 

"Ah,  senor,  young  ladies  in  Spain  cannot 
be  so  bold  as  I  hear  they  are  in  England. 
Even  this  is  an  unheard-of  adventure — that 
I,  a  young  lady,  should  travel  alone.  But 
it  is  a  case  of  life  and  death,  you  know, 
and  it  is  only  from  here  to  Burgos,  where 
I  shall  find  friends.  And  then  I  wanted  to 
speak  to  you  once  more.  And  you,  senor 
— are  you  going  to  England  now  ?" 

Again  there  came  over  Ashby's  face  a 
look  of  embarrassment.  His  present  jour 
ney  was  a  delicate  subject,  which  he  could 
not  discuss  very  well  with  Dolores. 

"  Well,  no,"  he  said,  after  a  brief  pause. 
"  I'm  only  going  as  far  as  Bayonne  —  on 
business.  But  how  long  it  seems  since  I 
saw  you,  Dolores !  It's  more  than  a  year." 

"  And  have  I  changed,  senor  ?"  she  ask 
ed,  sweetly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Ashby,  looking  at  her  in 
tently. 

Dolores  returned  his  look  with  another, 
the  intensity  of  which  was  wonderful  to 
Ashby.  He  seemed  to  look  into  the  depths 
of  her  soul,  and  the  lustrous  eyes  which 
were  fastened  on  his  appeared  as  though 


they  strove  to  read  his  inmost  heart.  Her 
manner,  however,  was  light  and  bantering, 
and  it  was  with  a  merry  smile  that  she 
went  on : 

"Ah!  so  I  have  changed?  And  how, 
senor — for  the  better?" 

"  No,  and  yes,"  said  Ashby,  drinking  in 
her  dark,  deep,  liquid  glances.  "In  the 
first  place,  you  could  not  possibly  be  bet 
ter  or  more  beautiful  than  you  used  to  be ; 
but,  in  the  second  place,  you  are  more  wom 
anly." 

"  But  I  am  not  yet  seventeen,  senor." 

"  I  know,"  said  Ashby,  of  course. 

"And  you  have  not  yet  asked  after  the 
dear  one — the  mamma,  who  loves  you  so," 
said  Dolores,  in  rather  an  inconsequential 
way. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  you,  so  that  all  other 
thoughts  were  driven  out  of  my  head." 

"  That's  pretty,"  said  Dolores  ;  "  but  do 
you  not  want  to  hear  about  the  dear  mam 
ma  ?" 

"  Of  course.  I  shall  love  her  and  revere 
her  till  I  die.  Did  she  not  save  my  life  ? 
Was  she  not  a  mother  to  me  in  my  sorest 
need  ?  And  you,  Dolores — " 

He  stopped  short,  and  seemed  somewhat 
confused  and  agitated. 

"  Yes,"  said  Dolores,  in  a  tone  of  inde 
scribable  tenderness ;  "  yes,  she  loved  you — 
the  dear  mamma — like  a  mother,  and  has 
always  talked  about  you.  It  is  always, 
Dolores,  child,  sing  that  song  that  Senor 
Assebi  taught  you;  sing  that  beautiful, 
beautiful  English  song  of  '  Sweet  Home ;' 
sing  that  sweetest,  loveliest,  most  mourn 
ful  Scottish  song  of '  Lochaber.'  " 

And  here,  in  a  voice  full  of  exquisite 
tenderness  and  pathos,  Dolores  sang  that 
mournful  air,  "Lochaber,"  with  Spanish 
words.  The  tender  regret  of  her  voice  af 
fected  herself;  she  faltered,  and  her  eyes 
filled ;  but  the  tears  were  instantly  chased 
away  by  a  sunny  smile. 

"  And  so,  senor,"  said  she,  "  you  see  that 
I  have  forgotten  nothing  of  it — nothing." 

"Nor  I,"  said  Ashby;  "nor  I — nothing. 
I  have  forgotten  not  one  thing." 

His  voice  was  low  and  tremulous.  There 
was  a  strange,  yearning  look  in  his  eyes. 
With  a  sudden  impulse  he  held  out  his 
hand,  as  though  to  take  hers,  but  Dolores 
gently  drew  hers  away. 

"And  have  you  been  in  Madrid  ever 
since  ?"  she  asked,  in  a  tone  that  seemed  to 
convey  something  of  reproach. 

"  No,"  said  Ashby.     "  You  know,  when  I 


14 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


fell  ill  at  Valencia,  where  you  saved  my  life 
by  your  tender  care,  I  was  on  my  way  to 
Barcelona.  When  I  left  you  I  resumed  my 
interrupted  journey.  Then  I  went  to  Mar 
seilles  and  Leghorn,  then  to  Cadiz,  and  final 
ly  to  Madrid.  I've  been  in  Madrid  three 
months." 

"And  you  didn't  think  it  worth  while 
to  write  to  us  in  all  that  long  time  ?"  said 
Dolores,  with  a  reproachfulness  in  her  tone 
which  was  now  very  marked. 

"  Write  ?"  said  Ashby ;  "  why,  I  wrote 
twice — once  from  Marseilles,  and  once  from 
Leghorn." 

"  We  never  heard,"  said  Dolores,  sadly, 
"  not  once." 

"But  I  wrote,"  said  Ashby,  earnestly. 
"  Don't  you  believe  me,  Dolores  ?" 

"  Believe  you,  senor  ?  What  a  question ! 
It  was  the  fault  of  the  post-office  in  these 
times  of  trouble — that  was  all.  And,  senor, 
I  am  very  glad  to  know  all,  for  I  did  not 
know  what  to  think  about  it." 

"And  am  I  forgiven,  Dolores?"  Ashby 
asked. 

Dolores  replied  with  a  sweet  smile,  and 
held  out  her  hand, which  the  young  man  took 
and  pressed  tenderly,  not  caring  to  let  it  go. 

"  I  did  not  know,"  said  he,  "  there  was 
anything  against  me  to  be  forgiven;  but 
this  is  a  sign  that  you  are  the  same  Do 
lores  that  you  were  a  year  ago." 

"Always,"  said  she,  "always  the  same;" 
and  then  she  withdrew  her  hand. 

"And  now,  senor,"  said  she,  with  a  per 
ceptible  effort,  as  of  one  who  approaches  a 
disagreeable  subject,  "  this  beautiful  Inglesa 
— who  is  she  ?" 

Ashby 's  eyes  fell  before  the  fixed  and 
profound  inquiry  of  those  of  Dolores's,  who 
watched  him  close,  and  lost  nothing  of  his 
change  of  features. 

"This  lady  ?"  said  he,  and  hesitated. 

"  Yes,"  said  Dolores,  gently. 

"  She  is  a— a— Miss  Westlotorn." 

"  And  she  loves  you  very,  very,  very  dear 
ly  and  tenderly,"  said  Dolores,  in  a  quick, 
breathless  voice;  "and  you  are  going  to 
be  married  to  her,  and  she  will  soon  be 
your  wife." 

Ashby  said  nothing,  but  sat  looking 
strangely  embarrassed. 

"  You  never  mentioned  her  to  us  at  Va 
lencia,"  continued  Dolores. 

"  No,"  said  Ashby. 

"And  why  not  ?"  asked  Dolores,  who  saw 
his  confusion,  but  was  eager  to  know  the 
truth. 


"I  had  not  seen  her,"  said  Ashby. 

"  You  had  not  seen  her,"  repeated  Do 
lores.  "Ah  !"— she  hesitated  for  a  moment 
and  then  went  on — "so  you  saw  her  after 
ward.  And  she  loves  you  !" 

These  last  words  were  spoken  with  in 
describable  tenderness  and  mournfulness. 
"And — she— loves — you,"  she  repeated,  in 
a  voice  that  had  sunk  almost  to  a  whisper ; 
"  and  she  is  to  be  your  wife — the  English 
girl !" 

"  Well,"  said  Ashby,  making  an  effort  to 
overcome  his  embarrassment,  "  it  is — it  is 
about  time.  The  fact  is,  I— I.  did  ask  her 
to — to  be  my  wife." 

"And  she?" 

"She?  Well  — she  said  she  would,  I 
think,"  said  Ashby,  evasively. 

"  You  think  !"  exclaimed  Dolores. 

"  Well,  you  see,  there's  a  difficulty.* 

"A  difficulty?" 

"  Yes.     Her  guardian  will  not  consent." 

"But  that  is  nothing,"  saicl  Dolores,  in 
an  animated  tone.  "You  must  take  her, 
and  run  away  with  her." 

Ashby  looked  at  Dolores  with  a  strange, 
eager,  hungry  gaze. 

"  But  there's  another  objection,"  said  he. 

"  Objection  ?     What  is  that  ?" 

"I  don't  want  to." 

"  What  ?"  asked  Dolores,  in  surprise. 

Ashby  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then 
said,  with  an  effort, 

"I  thought  before  we  left  that  I  loved 
her;  but  since  I  have  seen  you  again  —  I 
feel— that  I  do  not." 

These  words  were  spoken  rapidly,  in  a 
low,  feverish  whisper.  At  first  Dolores 
started  as  though  she  had  been  shot. 
Then  she  averted  her  face,  and  held  up 
her  hands  deprecatingly. 

"Ah,"  said  she,  in  a  sad  voice,  "that  is 
all  idle,  idle,  idle,  foolish,  foolish,  foolish 
compliment,  and  nothing  more.  You  must 
not  say  that  again,  or  I  will  never  forgive 
you — never,  never !" 

At  this  Ashby  was  brought  back  to  his 
senses  with  a  sudden  and  wholesome  shock, 
and  said  no  more  upon  that  point.  In  fact, 
he  now  felt  afraid  that  he  had  said  alto- 
nether  too  much. 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


15 


CHAPTER  III. 


HOW  ASIIBY  MEETS  WITH  ANOTHER  FRIEND,  AND  HOW 
HE  TAKES  HIM  INTO  HIS  CONFIDENCE. 

THAT  evening  they  arrived  at  Burgos, 
where,  on  account  of  troubles  along  the 
line,  the  train  was  to  remain  until  ten 
o'clock  on  the  following  day.  Dolores  in 
formed  Ashby  that  she  was  going  to  stay 
with  friends,  and  refused  to  allow  him  to 
accompany  her  to  the  house,  in  spite  of  his 
earnest  entreaties.  She  had  been  in  Burgos 
before,  she  said.  The  house  was  not  far 
from  the  station,  and  she  was  firm  in  her 
resolve  to  go  alone.  Ashby  followed  her, 
however,  and  saw  her  pass  in  safety  through 
the  streets  and  into  a  large  and  venerable 
house  not  far  from  the  Cathedral.  He  then 
retraced  his  steps,  and  made  the  best  of  his 
way  to  the  Fonda  del  Norte,  where  he  put 
up  for  the  night. 

Here,  after  dinner,  he  loitered  about  for 
a  time,  meditating  over  the  events  of  the 
day,  and  conjecturing  about  the  morrow. 
His  situation  was  growing  somewhat  com 
plicated  ;  for  there  was  Katie,  whom  he  had 
promised  to  see  at  Burgos ;  but  on  leaving 
the  train  he  had  followed  Dolores,  and  now 
he  had  not  the  faintest  idea  where  the  Rus- 
sells  had  gone.  They  were  not  at  the  Fon 
da  del  Norte.  It  was  also  too  late  now  to 
hunt  them  up,  and  too  late  to  hope  to  see 
Katie.  That  must  be  postponed  till  the 
morrow. 

Ashby  was  beginning  to  feel  more  mel 
ancholy  than  ever  in  his  life  before,  when 
suddenly  he  was  roused  by  a  loud  excla 
mation. 

"  Well,  by  Jove  !  Halloo,  old  boy  !  Ash- 
by  himself,  by  all  that's  wonderful !" 

At  this  Ashby  looked  up,  and  the  next 
instant  he  was  heartily  wringing  the  hand 
of  the  new-comer. 

"  Rivers  !  Harry  Rivers  !  How  are  you, 
my  boy  ?  and  where  in  the  world  did  you 
come  from  ?" 

"  By  Jove !  do  you  know,  old  fellow," 
said  Harry  Rivers,  "  I  call  this  no  end  of  a 
piece  of  good  luck  ?  I've  been  bored  to 
death  at  Burgos.  But  come  along  to  my 
rooms  and  give  an  account  of  yourself." 

The  two  friends  then  went  off,  and  soon 
were  comfortably  seated  in  the  rooms  of 
Harry  Rivers,  with  some  flasks  of  wine 
and  Havanas  to  help  along  the  evening 
hours. 

Harry  Rivers  was  of  about  the  same  age 
as  Ashbv,  but  totally  different  in  appear- 
2 


ance.  He  was  of  medium  height,  very  well 
knit  in  his  frame,  and  very  well  dressed. 
His  hair  was  crisp  and  curling ;  his  brow 
broad  and  open ;  his  eyes  full  of  light,  and 
life,  and  volatility.  He  had  a  small  mus 
tache,  but  no  beard  or  whiskers,  and  his 
laughing  eyes,  with  his  smooth  face  and 
winning  smile,  gave  him  a  most  engaging 
appearance.  In  short,  Harry  Rivers  was 
one  of  those  rare  good  fellows  who  make 
friends  wherever  they  go ;  who  take  the 
world  into  their  confidence  ;  who  insist  on 
making  every  one  familiar  with  their  vary 
ing  fortunes;  and  carry  about  with  them 
a  perpetual  atmosphere  of  joyousness  and 
breezy  cheerfulness. 

"  Well,  old  chap,"  said  Harry,  as  they  sat 
enjoying  their  cigars  and  wine,  "I  haven't 
seen  you  or  heard  of  you  since  you  left  Bar 
celona.  How  did  you  get  on  with  your 
business  in  Italy?  What  made  you  turn 
up  in  this  queer  way  at  Burgos  ?  This  isn't 
the  sort  of  place  that  I'd  expect  to  find  a 
friend  in." 

"  I'm  on  my  way  to  Bayonne  just  now," 
said  Ashby,  "  and  I  stopped  here — because 
the  train  stopped." 

"  Bayonne  isn't  a  bad  place,"  said  Harry ; 
"I  spent  a  week  there  once — good  wine, 
but  bad  tobacco  and  infernal  cigars.  Here 
we  have  good  cigars  and  bad  wine.  Do 
you  know,  old  chap,  I  don't  dote  on  any 
of  the  Spanish  wines — do  you?  At  the 
same  time,  I  drink  your  very  good  health, 
together  with  future  prosperity  and  good 
luck  in  your  present  undertaking,  what 
ever  that  may  be." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Ashby,  "  and  the  same  to 
you." 

"  Look  here,  old  chap,"  said  Harry,  "  you 
look  a  little  down  in  the  mouth — a  trifle 
seedy.  No  bad  luck,  I  hope  ?" 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Ashby,  "  nothing  in  par 
ticular." 

"  The  fact  is,  you  seem  to  have  lost  your 
high  moral  tone,  and  your  former  happy 
flow  of  genial  conversation.  I  don't  want 
to  be  a  Paul  Pry,  my  dear  boy ;  but  if  you 
wish  to  gain  sympathy  and  find  a  friend 
who  can  hear  and  help,  why,  all  I  can  say 
is — here  you  have  him." 

"  Well,"  said  Ashby,  "  I'm  a  little  preoc 
cupied,  that's  a  fact." 

"  Preoccupied  ?  That's  your  name  for  it, 
is  it  ?  Well,  suppose  we  adopt  that  word 
—what  then  ?" 

Ashby  knocked  the  ashes  off  his  cigar 
with  a  reflective  look,  and  said, 


16 


A  CASTLE  IX  SPAIN. 


"I  rather  think,  Harry,  that  I  had  better 
make  you  my  father-confessor." 

"All  right,"  said  Harry;  "that's  what  I 
was  made  for.  Go  ahead,  my  sou.  Con 
fess — out  with  it.  Cleanse  your  bosom  of 
its  perilous  stuff:  make  a  clean  breast  of  it." 

"  Well,"  said  Ashby,  "  in  the  first  place, 
Fin  just  now  meditating  matrimony." 

"  Matrimony !" 

"  Yes ;  but  that's  not  all.  It's  a  sort  of 
runaway  match." 

"A  runaway  match!  By  Jove!  Only 
think  of  a  fellow  like  you  planning  a  run 
away  match  !  Now  if  it  was  me,  it  would 
be  the  proper  thing.  But  is  it  really  to  be 
a  runaway  match  ?" 

"  Well,  it  amounts  to  that,  for  I've  asked 
the  girl  to  clear  out  from  her  friends  and 
come  with  me." 

"  Well,  old  fellow,  all  I  can  say  is,  good 
luck  to  you  both.  And  please,  mayn't  I  be 
the  best  man  ?"  he  added,  with  a  droll  ac 
cent  that  brought  an  involuntary  smile  to 
Ashby's  face.  "  But  go  on.  Who  is  the 
charmer  ?  and  where  is  she  now  ?" 

"  Well,  to  answer  your  last  question  first, 
she's  here — in  Burgos." 

"Ah,"  said  Harry,  "  I  twig !  Came  on  in 
the  same  train.  Both  planned  it  together. 
You  cut  across  the  border,  and  are  made 
one.  Why,  it's  like  Gretna  Green !" 

"Well,  you've  hit  it  partly,  only  she's 
with  her  friends  just  now — that  is  to  say, 
she's  with  her  guardian  and  his  wife  ;  and 
the  problem  to  be  solved  by  me  is,  how  I 
am  to  get  her  from  those  two  dragons." 

"  Oh,  that  can  be  done.  But  now,  my 
boy,  to  come  to  the  point,  who  is  she  ? — her 
name  ?" 

"Her  name,"  said  Ashby,  "is  Westlo- 
torn — Katie  Westlotorn." 

"  W^estlotorn,"  repeated  Harry:  "never 
saw  her,  and  don't  think  I  ever  heard  the 
name  in  all  my  life." 

"I  got  acquainted  with  her  at  Cadiz  a 
few  months  ago,"  said  Ashby.  "  Her  fa 
ther  had  been  a  merchant  there,  and  had 
died  about  a  year  before.  She  was  there 
with  her  step-mother,  who  took  no  particu 
lar  care  of  her — a  miserable  beast  of  a  wom 
an.  She  was  in  correspondence  with  her 
sister  in  England,  a  Mrs.  Russell,  whom  she 
kept  urging  to  come  on  and  take  Katie 
away  from  Spain.  This  Mrs.  Westlotorn 
had  induced  her  husband  before  his  death 
to  appoint  Russell,  her  sister's  husband, 
Katie's  guardian,  and  it  was  this  Russell 
and  his  wife  whom  she  expected  on,  but 


they  could  not  get  away  very  easily.  Af 
ter  a  time  Mrs.  Westlotorn  decided  to  move 
to  Madrid,  which  she  thought  would  be 
a  pleasantcr  residence.  So  about  three 
months  ago  she  made  the  move,  and  after 
that  Katie  and  I  saw  as  much  of  one  an 
other  as  we  wished,  and  she  became  regu 
larly  engaged  to  me." 

"  So  the  step-mother  approved,  did  she  ?" 

"  Oh,  altogether !" 

"  Well,  what's  the  trouble  ?" 

"  Oh,  this  infernal  Russell,  the  guardian, 
you  know  !  As  soon  as  he  came  on,  he  and 
his  wife  began  to  make  trouble,  and  tried 
to  break  up  the  engagement;  they  also 
tried  to  keep  me  away  from  the  house. 
Then  there  was  another  difficulty :  they  al 
lowed  some  Spanish  blackguards  to  get 
acquainted  with  them.  Mrs.  Westlotorn, 
the  widow,  you  know,  is  hot-and-heavy  in 
the  chase  of  a  husband,  and  thought  that 
all  the  young  fellows  who  came  after  Katie 
were  after  her.  The  worst  of  them  was  a 
chap  named  Lopez,  who  calls  himself  a 
captain  in  the  Spanish  army — a  poor,  piti 
ful  beggar  whom  I  shall  have  to  horsewhip. 
And,  by-the-bye,  that  reminds  me — I  expect 
to  be  called  out  to-morrow  or  next  day." 

"  Called  out  ?  how  ?" 

"  Oh,  by  this  pitiful  fellow  Lopez ;"  and 
Ashby  related  the  incident  at  the  Madrid 
station. 

"  By  Jove  !"  said  Harry,  "  this  is  lucky. 
I'm  glad  I  came  upon  you  at  such  a  time. 
You  won't  have  to  trust  to  a  bungling 
Spaniard  to  be  your  second." 

"  The  worst  of  it  is,"  said  Ashby,  "  I  be 
lieve  that  this  Russell  is  one  of  the  most 
infernal  villains  that  ever  lived,  and  that  he 
is  concocting  some  scheme  against  Katie." 

"A  scheme!  how?" 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you.  I  saw  from  the  first 
that  he  was  hostile  to  me.  Possibly  this 
may  have  been  my  own  fault,  for  I  saw  the 
fellow  was  a  beastly  cad,  not  at  all  fit  to 
be  Katie's  guardian.  Why,  he's  a  tailor ! 
think  of  that  —  a  tailor !  that's  all  he  is. 
By  Jove  !  only  think — a  tailor !  and  Katie's 
guardian  !  Do  you  suppose  I  was  going  to 
stand  any  nonsense  from  a  tailor  ?" 

"By  Jove!  no — not  unless  you're  deep 
in  his  books,"  said  Harry ;  "  and  even  then, 
when  you're  away  from  home  you  ought  to 
be  a  free  man.  So  you  rather  slighted  the 
guardian,  did  you  ?" 

"Well,  I  told  him  to  go  to  the  clevil; 
and  the  fellow  took  offence,  you  know." 

"  H'm  —  odd,  too,"  said  Harry.     "Why 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


17 


should  lie  take  offence  at  such  a  simple  re 
mark  ?" 

"Don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  said  Ashby; 
"  but  there  it  is,  you  see.  However,  that 
makes  no  difference.  I've  defied  him  and 
threatened  him." 

"  Threatened !     Why  ?" 

"  Why,  because  the  infernal  scoundrel  is 
deep  in  some  plan  to  get  hold  of  Katie's 
money." 

"Katie's  money?  Oh,  she  has  money, 
then  ?" 

"  Of  course — about  thirty  or  forty  thou 
sand  pounds.  Most  of  this,  I  believe,  is  in 
Spanish  bonds,  in  which  Westlotorn  was 
foolish  enough  to  invest." 

"  Not  very  good  just  now,  hey  ?" 

"  Oh,  they'll  be  good  ultimately.  At  any 
rate,  old  Russell's  bound  to  get  hold  of  all 
this  and  keep  it  for  himself,  and  I'm  re 
solved  that  he  shall  disgorge.  He's  got 
half  a  dozen  plans.  One  plan  is  to  try  to 
get  her  to  marry  his  son,  an  infernal  red 
headed,  cock-eyed  cad  of  a  fellow — a  tail 
or  too.  Another  plan  is  to  put  her  off  in 
some  out-of-the-way  place  here  in  Spain, 
where  no  one  will  ever  hear  of  her.  An 
other  plan  is  to  ship  her  off  to  America ; 
another  is  to  keep  her  in  seclusion  in  his 
own  home,  where  no  one  will  ever  see  her; 
while  another  is  to  dispose  of  the  Spanish 
bonds  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  it  appear 
that  they  are  a  dead  loss." 

"  You  seem  to  be  very  deep  in  Russell's 
plans,"  said  Harry.  "  He  could  not  have 
told  you  all  this  himself.  If  he  did,  he 
must  be  of  an  uncommonly  confiding  dis 
position." 

"  He  tell  me !"  said  Ashby.  "  Of  course 
he  didn't.  I  found  it  all  out — no  matter 
how.  Oh,  the  fellow's  a  desperate  swin 
dler — he'll  stick  at  nothing.  But,  at  any 
rate,  he  knows  that  I  have  my  eye  on  him, 
and  he'll  hardly  dare  to  do  anything  against 
Katie's  interest  so  long  as  I  am  near  enough 
to  watch  over  her." 

"  You  and  Russell  must  have  had  rather 
interesting  conversations.  Did  you  ever 
tell  him  your  suspicions  ?" 

"They're  not  suspicions,  they're  facts. 
Tell  him— of  course  I  did,  and  that's  one 
reason  why  he  hates  me.  He  knows  per 
fectly  well  that  I  see  through  and  through 
him.  We  had  a  row  at  the  station,  just  be 
fore  leaving  Madrid,  because  I  came  clown 
to  see  Katie  off;  and  he's  now  on  the  watch 
to  prevent  me  from  seeing  her  again." 

"And  what  do  you  propose  to  do  about  it  ?" 


"  Oh,  I've  arranged  it  all.  I'll  tell  you. 
I  wrote  a  letter,  and  handed  it  to  her  just 
as  we  were  leaving  Madrid,  asking  her  to 
meet  me  at  Biarritz,  naming  a  place.  I 
have  friends  there,  and  I  will  take  her  to 
their  house.  The  English  chaplain  can 
marry  us.  We  will  then  cut  off  to  Eng 
land.  On  the  arrival  of  Russell  I  will  go 
to  him  and  demand  my  wife's  property. 
If  he  refuses  to  disgorge  I  will  at  once 
commence  legal  proceedings  against  him, 
and  by  way  of  preliminary  I  will  give  the 
scoundrel  a  horsewhipping." 

"  This  arrangement  is  all  very  well ;  but 
what  about  the  lady  ?  Will  she  consent  ?" 

"Consent?  Why,  she'll  jump  at  the 
chance,"  said  Ashby,  confidently. 

"  She  must  be  very  fond  of  you." 

"  Fond  of  me  ?  Why,  she's  perfectly  in 
fatuated  about  me." 

"Good!"  said  Harry.  "Well,  my  boy, 
I'm  your  man.  You  want  me  for  war  and 
for  peace,  so  here  am  I — your  second  at  the 
duel  and  your  groomsman  at  the  wedding." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

HOW  THE   RAILWAY  TRAIN   COMES   TO  A   SUDDEN 
STOP. 

VERY  early  on  the  following  morning 
Ashby  was  up  and  out.  He  walked  over 
the  town  in  all  directions,  with  a  strange, 
furtive  watchfulness  in  his  eyes,  as  though 
on  the  lookout  for  some  one.  Who  was 
the  object  of  his  search?  Was  it  Katie, 
whose  answer  to  his  proposal  had  not  yet 
been  given  ?  Was  it  Dolores,  whom  he  had 
tracked  on  the  previous  evening?  Or  was 
it  his  rival  Lopez,  with  whom  he  had  yet 
to  stand  in  mortal  conflict  ?  Whichever  it 
was  did  not  appear,  for  Ashby  was  doomed 
to  be  unsuccessful,  and  to  return  to  his  inn 
a  baffled  man.  Barely  time  enough  was 
now  left  him  to  snatch  a  hasty  repast,  after 
which  he  hurried  to  the  station. 

The  place  wras  thronged.  Passengers 
were  arriving,  and  the  train  was  filling  rap 
idly.  Ashby  stood,  as  he  had  stood  on  the 
previous  day,  watching.  Singularly  enough, 
Lopez  also,  like  himself,  was  again  on  the 
lookout,  for  he  could  see  him  scowling  in 
the  distance.  No  Avords,  however,  passed 
between  them,  and  the  challenge  which 
Lopez  had  threatened  was  not  yet  forth 
coming.  At  length  the  patience  of  both 
was  rewarded. 

A  cab  drove  up.     The  broad  face  of  Rus- 


18 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


sell  was  seen  through  the  window.  The 
rest  of  the  party  were  inside.  But,  to  Ash- 
by's  amazement,  he  saw  Harry  Rivers  rid 
ing  outside  with  the  driver.  As  the  cab 
stopped,  Rivers  leaped  lightly  down,  and 
opened  the  cab  door  himself.  Then  old 
Russell  got  out.  Then  Harry  assisted  Mrs. 
Russell  to  descend.  After  this  he  assisted 
Katie  out  of  the  cab,  and  Ashby  saw  that 
she  looked  as  fresh,  as  bright,  and  as  bloom 
ing  as  a  rose,  that  she  showed  not  a  trace 
of  care  or  anxiety,  and  that  she  was  as 
sprightly  and  coquettish  as  ever. 

"  Confound  the  fellow  1"  growled  Ashby 
to  himself,  as  he  wondered  how  Harry  had 
found  them  out  and  made  their  acquaint 
ance,  envying  him  also  his  good  luck.  But 
the  climax  had  yet  to  come.  There  was  one 
passenger  more.  This  one  also  was  assist 
ed  out  of  the  cab  by  Harry.  To  the  utter 
stupefaction  of  Ashby,  this  one  was  Do 
lores. 

So  overwhelmed  was  Ashby  that  he 
stood  without  motion,  having  quite  lost  all 
that  presence  of  mind  and  coolness  which 
usually  distinguished  him.  It  was  won 
derful  enough  to  find  Harry  hand  in  glove 
with  the  Russells,  but  to  find  Dolores  there 
along  with  Katie  was  a  knock-down  blow. 
It  made  his  situation  so  confused  and  full 
of  complications  that  he  could  not  think  of 
any  course  of  action.  So  he  stood,  and  he 
stared,  and  the  party  came  along  on  their 
way  to  the  train.  As  they  approached 
Katie  looked  at  him  with  a  bright  smile, 
full  of  tender  meaning,  and  a  flush  passed 
over  her  face.  Dolores,  on  the  contrary, 
allowed  her  dark  eyes  to  rest  on  him  for 
an  instant,  and  then  looked  down.  This 
troubled  him,  for  at  that  moment  it  happen 
ed  that  he  was  longing  for  a  smile  from 
Dolores.  Still,  he  was  glad  to  get  that 
look  from  Katie.  The  fact  is,  the  fellow 
was  too  ridiculous,  for  he  actually  wanted 
a  smile  from  each  of  them. 

As  they  passed  Harry  dropped  behind. 

"  Look  here,  Ashby,"  said  he ;  "  where  in 
Heaven's  name  have  you  hid  yourself  all 
the  morning?  I  thought  you  wanted  to 
find  Miss  Westlotorn." 

"  So  I  did,"  said  Ashby,  in  a  rueful  tone. 

"Why,  confound  it,  man,  she  was  close 
by  us  all  the  time.  When  I  went  out  I 
found  your  dear  friend,  old  Russell." 

"  Russell !"  cried  Ashby ;  "  but  how  did 
you  get  acquainted  with  him  ?" 

"Acquainted!"  cried  Harry.  "Man 
alive  !  By  Jove !  a  man  ought  to  know  his 


own  tailor,  oughtn't  he  ?  I  didn't  think 
of  it  last  night.  I  thought  your  Russell 
was  a  different  man :  the  name  is  common 
enough, you  know.  People  generally  dodge 
their  tailors,  but  I'm  not  proud,  and  I  don't 
owe  him  very  much ;  and,  besides,  this  is 
Spain,  and  he  can't  dun  me.  Moreover,  he 
was  in  a  street  row,  and  I  helped  him  out 
with  niy  Spanish.  What  the  mischief  docs 
he  mean  by  coming  with  his  family  to  Bur 
gos  with  no  other  language  than  English  ? 
But,  by-the-bye,  old  fellow,  I  must  hurry  : 
I'm  going  to  join  their  party  and  travel  in 
their  carriage.  Hope  you'll  enjoy  yourself 
as  well  as  I  intend  to.  I  would  have  ex 
cused  myself,  only,  you  know,  when  there's 
a  chance  of  travelling  with  a  couple  of  such 
pretty  girls  as  those,  only  a  madman  would 
decline." 

All  this  Harry  poured  forth  in  a  torrent 
of  words,  and  before  Ashby  had  a  chance 
of  making  a  remark  he  was  off.  Ashby 
watched  him,  and  saw  him  enter  the  car 
nage  where  Katie  and  Dolores  had  gone 
with  the  Russells;  and  then,  drawing  a 
long  breath,  he  went  slowly  to  the  train 
and  took  his  seat.  There  was  only  one 
other  occupant  of  the  carriage  where  he 
sat.  This  was  a  priest.  He  wore  a  broad- 
brimmed  hat ;  his  eyes  were  concealed  by 
spectacles:  he  had  also  a  heavy  brown 
beard  and  mustache.  So  engaged  was  he 
in  reading  his  breviary,  that  as  Ashby  en 
tered  he  did  not  look  up  or  take  any  no 
tice  of  him  whatever. 

Lopez,  also,  had  seen  the  whole  proceed 
ing,  and  had  put  on  it  his  own  interpreta 
tion.  As  Ashby  entered  the  train  so  did 
he,  and  soon  the  whole  of  these  people 
whose  fortunes  were  so  entangled  were 
whirling  along  to  the  North. 

Ashby  sat  buried  in  gloom,  with  his 
heart  full  of  bitterness  and  wrath;  of  envy, 
hatred,  malice,  and  all  uncharitableness. 
He  had  hoped  to  see  Katie.  He  had  count 
ed  quite  confidently  on  meeting  once  more 
with  Dolores.  He  had  felt  sure  of  Harry 
Rivers.  But  now  all  three  had  failed  him ; 
and,  what  was  worse,  all  three  had  drifted 
away  from  him  in  one  another's  company, 
and  appeared  to  be  perfectly  indifferent  to 
him,  and  perfectly  happy  without  him. 

The  priest  was  unsociable,  and  kept  read 
ing  his  breviary  as  though  his  life  depend 
ed  upon  it.  Yet  this  made  no  difference 
to  Ashby.  He  did  not  desire  to  make  any 
new  acquaintances  or  talk  small-talk  with 
strangers.  He  preferred  to  be  left  to  his 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


'19 


own  thoughts,  dismal  as  they  were.  He 
was  in  no  mood  for  conversation,  for  his 
mind  was  full  of  material  for  meditation, 
conjecture,  wonder,  and  bewilderment. 

Why,  he  thought,  had  Dolores  deserted 
him?  How  had  she  become  acquainted 
with  Katie?  And  Harry  —  to  which  of 
these  two  was  he  making  himself  so  in 
fernally  agreeable  ?  Whichever  it  was,  it 
seemed  equally  bad.  Ashby  felt  bitterly 
resentful  against  all  of  them.  Katie  seemed 
to  be  the  worst.  She  might  have  contrived, 
he  thought,  to  give  him  some  sign.  But 
then  he  recollected  that  on  the  previous 
evening  he  was  tracking  Dolores,  when  he 
ought  to  have  gone  on  Katie's  trail.  As 
for  Dolores,  he  thought  that  she  might  at 
least  have  shown  herself  when  he  was  wan 
dering  through  the  streets  in  the  morning 
hours.  But  perhaps  she  expected  to  find 
him  in  the  neighborhood  of  Katie.  Evi 
dently  he  himself  had  acted  like  a  fool  in 
leaving  the  hotel.  As  for  Harry  Rivers,  he 
could  not  help  feeling  as  though  this  was 
the  worst  of  all.  Harry  had  it  now  all  his 
own  way :  a  gay,  careless,  impulsive  dog — 
a  fellow  who  would  forget  the  whole  world 
while  under  the  influence  of  a  pair  of  bright 
eyes — a  fellow  who  was  even  now,  perhaps, 
trying  to  cut  him  out.  The  miserable  hum 
bug,  also,  by  a  most  abominable  chance,  had 
both  these  girls.  Both !  Insatiate  mon 
ster  !  would  not  one  suffice  ? 

Thus  Ashby  chafed,  and  fumed,  and,  I 
am  sorry  to  add,  swore  terribly;  but  all 
the  while  the  train  kept  rolling  on  and  on, 
until  at  length  the  Ebro  valley  was  reach 
ed.  Here  the  scenes  that  opened  to  view 
were  most  attractive.  Far  away  on  either 
side  was  a  broad  plain,  dotted  with  towns 
and  villages,  and  filled  with  olive -groves 
and  vineyards,  where  cattle,  and  sheep,  and 
goats  grazed  peacefully,  and  shepherds, 
goatherds,  and  vine-dressers  stared  lazilv 
up  as  the  train  rolled  by.  The  distant  ho 
rizon  was  everywhere  terminated  by  lofty 
mountains — on  the  south,  the  circling  range 
of  the  Sierra  de  Grades;  on  the  north,  the 
long  line  of  the  Pyrenees  and  the  Asturian 
mountains,  their  sides  covered  with  foliage, 
their  summits  crowned  with  snow.  It  was 
a  ground,  too,  which  was  rich  in  associa 
tions  of  history  and  romance,  the  arena  of 
gallant  struggle  and  heroic  effort  for  many 
and  many  an  age ;  a  place  that  called  up 
memories  of  Hannibal,  with  his  conquering 
armies ;  of  Rome,  with  her  invincible  le 
gions  ;  of  Charlemagne,  with  his  Paladins ; 


of  Abd-er-Rahman,  with  his  brilliant  Sara- 
cons  ;  of  the  steel-clad  Crusaders;  of  the 
martial  hosts  of  Arragon ;  of  the  resistless 
infantry  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella ;  of  the 
wars  of  the  Spanish  succession  ;  of  the  red 
coats  of  Wellington ;  through  all  the  ages 
down  to  the  time  of  this  story,  when  Don 
Carlos  was  standing  among  these  northern 
mountains,  as  Pelajo  stood  more  than  a 
thousand  years  ago,  leading  on  his  hardy 
warriors  to  battle  against  all  the  rest  of 
Spain. 

So  the  train  rolled  on — past  the  numer 
ous  stations ;  past  the  towns  and  villages ; 

!  past  the  long  groves  and  vineyards ;  past 

!  the  barren,  sandy  tracts ;  past  the  hill-sides, 
with  shepherds,  and  flocks,  and  herds ;  past 

I  the  roads,  with  long  trains  of  mules ;  past 
the  peasants  lolling  over  walls  and  fences 
—so  the  train  passed  on,  mile  after  mile 
and  hour  after  hour ;  but  nothing  of  all 

I  this  was  noticed  by  Ashby,  who  sat  buried 
in  his  gloomy  reverie,  from  which  he  was 
unable  to  rally,  until  at  length  the  train 
came  to  a  sudden  full-stop. 

About  such  a  sudden  and  abrupt  stop 
there  was  something  very  singular  indeed. 
No  station  was  near.  The  country  seemed 
wild  and  deserted,  and  no  cause  was  like 
ly  to  stop  the  train  at  such  a  place  except 
some  serious  accident. 

The  priest  started  up  with  a  quick  move 
ment,  thrust  the  breviary  into  his  pocket, 
and  peered  cautiously  out  of  the  window, 
looking  first  backward  and  then  forward. 
It  was  this  movement  that  first  roused  Ash- 
by.  He  too  started  up  and  looked  out. 

The  sight  that  he  saw  was  so  startling 
that  it  served  most  effectually  to  chase 

I  away  all  morbid  fancies,  and  give  him 
something  to  think  about  of  a  far  more 
serious  character. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

HOW    THE    WHOLE    PARTY    COME    TO    GRIEF,  AND  ARE 
CARRIED    AWAY    CAPTIVE. 

IT  was,  in  truth,  a  strange  and  startling 
sight  that  met  Ashby 's  eyes  as  he  looked 
out  of  the  window.  The  train  had  been 
stopped  in  the  middle  of  a  plain,  where 
the  road  ran  along  an  embankment  about 
three  feet  high.  A  crowd  of  armed  men 
were  here,  gathered  about  the  locomotive, 
and  already  forming  lines  along  each  side 
of  the  train.  All  looked  shabby,  none  had 
any  pretensions  to  uniforms,  and  their  ap- 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


pearance  was  not  sufficiently  picturesque 
for  brigands.  In  fact,  they  looked  like  a 
gang  of  goatherds  who  had  just  taken  to 
brigandage. 

"A  hard  lot!"  muttered  Ashby  to  him 
self. 

Soon  the  tatterdemalions  reached  the 
spot,  and  extended  their  lines  on  both  sides 
to  the  end  of  the  train.  At  every  window 
they  shouted,  "  Back !  back !  Be  quiet,  and 
no  harm  will  be  done!"  Shouting  such 
words  as  these,  they  aimed  their  guns  so 
recklessly  and  with  such  furious  gestures  at 
the  windows,  that  the  passengers  all  shrank 
back,  not  only  into  their  seats,  but  even  into 
their  boots. 

The  Hues  of  armed  men  thus  stood  guard 
ing  the  train,  while  the  passengers  cowered 
inside.  After  a  time  a  cry  was  heard  from 
some  one  who  was  passing  along,  and  who, 
as  he  passed,  kept  shouting  into  each  car 
riage, 

"This  train  has  been  stopped  in  the 
name  of  his  Majesty  King  Charles.  All 
passengers  are  ordered  to  come  out  forth 
with.  Arms  and  weapons  of  all  kinds  must 
be  left  behind.  Resistance  will  be  punish 
ed  with  death.  God  save  the  King!" 

After  this  the  guards  came  and  opened 
all  the  doors,  and  the  passengers  stepped 
forth  in  obedience  to  orders.  Of  these  there 
were  about  a  hundred  altogether,  and  each 
one  remained  on  the  spot  where  he  alight 
ed,  and  was  forbidden  to  move  in  any  di 
rection.  From  where  Ashby  stood  he  could 
see  the  whole  crowd  —  the  prisoners  and 
their  captors.  He  saw  a  group  alighting 
from  a  carriage  a  little  ahead.  First  came 
Harry  Rivers,  stepping  out  quite  gayly,  as 
though  it  was  a  picnic.  On  reaching  the 
ground,  he  turned  and  assisted  the  ladies 
to  descend.  This  he  did  by  the  simple  yet 
pleasing  process  of  lifting  them  down  bodi 
ly — first  Katie,  then  Dolores.  At  this  sight 
Ashby  gnashed  his  teeth  with  jealous  rage. 
Then  came  Russell,  whom,  it  is  perhaps  un 
necessary  to  state,  Harry  did  not  lift  down. 
Nor  did  that  gallant  and  chivalrous  youth 
venture  to  lift  down  Mrs.  Russell,  being  at 
that  particular  moment  engaged  in  conver 
sation  with  Katie. 

Dolores,  having  descended,  stood  apart, 
and  her  dark-glancing  eyes,  as  they  wan 
dered  searchingly  about,  fell  full  upon  Ash- 
by.  It  was  a  glance  full  of  that  same  deep, 
earnest  meaning  which  he  had  noticed  in 
the  morning ;  and  so  she  stood  looking  at 
him,  too  far  away  to  speak,  while  Ashby 


looked  at  her  also.  After  a  time  Harry's 
roving  eyes  rested  upon  his  friend,  and  with 
a  laugh  he  drew  Katie's  attention  to  him. 
At  this  Katie  looked,  and  smiled  brightly, 
and  nodded  her  pretty  little  head  half  a 
dozen  times.  To  Ashby  this  seemed  like 
mockery.  Katie,  he  saw,  could  very  well 
bear  this  separation,  which  was  so  painful 
to  himself,  and  could  laugh  and  be  happy 
with  others,  and  could,  perhaps,  jest  about 
his  own  melancholy  face.  So  Ashby  bow 
ed  sulkily,  and  turned  away  his  head. 

It  was  rather  a  novelty  —  this  sort  of 
thing.  Brigands  in  every  age  had  stopped 
travellers,  but  then  they  had  always  been 
in  coaches  or  carriages,  on  horseback  or  on 
foot.  Never  before  had  they  tried  to  stop 
a  railway  train.  And  yet  in  the  progress 
of  civilization  the  world  had  to  come  to 
this.  The  manners  of  man  easily  accom 
modate  themselves  to  the  inventions  of 
man,  and  highway  robbery  can  be  done  as 
easily  on  a  railroad  as  on  a  carriage  road. 
Nevertheless,  these  particular  men  who 
stopped  this  particular  train  were  not  brig 
ands:  on  the  contrary,  they  were  soldiers, 
forming  part  of  the  army  of  one  who  called 
himself  King  of  Spain — in  short,  Carlists. 

The  passengers  were  now  ordered  to 
come  forward  for  examination,  one  by  one. 
Here,  on  a  little  knoll,  on  one  side  of  the 
locomotive,  stood  the  leader  pf  the  band. 
He  was  a  stout,  thick-set  man,  with  dark 
hair  and  bushy  beard.  Around  him  were 
a  score  or  so  of  armed  men.  The  rest  of 
the  band  stood  guarding  the  train.  One 
by  one  the  passengers  came  forward.  Each 
one  was  then  ordered  to  hand  over  all  the 
money,  jewellery,  watches,  or  other  valua 
bles  which  he  possessed.  This  was  to  be 
a  contribution  to  his  Royal  Majesty  King 
Charles,  who  was  in  sore  need  of  such  con 
tributions  from  all  his  loving  and  loyal  sub 
jects,  in  order  to  carry  on  the  war  against 
the  rebels  who  were  resisting  him.  Against 
such  a  command  as  this  there  could  be  no 
protest,  and  from  it  no  appeal.  No  one 
offered  to  do  either.  Gold,  silver,  copper, 
dirty  paper-money,  watches,  rings,  brooch 
es,  pins,  bracelets,  trinkets  of  male  and  fe 
male  use,  were  thrown  promiscuously  down 
into  a  large  basket  which  stood  at  the  feet 
of  the  Carlist  chief,  who  loftily  disdained 
searching  any  one,  assuring  them  that  he 
trusted  to  their  honor  as  Spaniards. 

Then  came  the  turn  of  the  Russell  party. 
First  the  Paterfamilias  disgorged.  It  was  a 
well-filled  wallet,  and  Russell  flung  it  down 


"  THE    TWO    FRIENDS    WERE    COMFORTABLY    SEATED    IN    THE    ROOMS    OF   HARRY   RIVERS.' 


THE    CAPTURE    OF    THE    TRAIN. 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


21 


without  a  word.  His  watch  followed. 
Then  came  some  trinkets  from  the  ladies; 
then  Harry's  purse  and  watch.  After  this 
they  were  about  to  move  away  to  where 
the  other  passengers  had  gone,  but  the 
Carlist  chief  stopped  them. 

"By  the  command  of  his  Most  Gracious 
Majesty  King  Charles,"  said  he,  "you  are 
to  be  detained." 

"  May  I  inquire  for  what  cause  ?"  asked 
Harry. 

"  Because  you  are  foreigners,"  said  the 
Carlist  chief. 

Harry  translated  this  to  Russell,  whose 
face  assumed  a  sickly  pallor.  To  him  this 
was  terrible. 

The  Carlist  chief  then  directed  them 
where  to  go,  and  two  of  the  band  led  them 
to  the  spot. 

Other  Spaniards  now  followed,  and  de 
posited  their  superfluous  cash  in  peace, 
without  being  detained.  Then  came  the 
priest.  He  threw  down  a  very  lean  wallet. 
No  notice  was  taken  of  him,  and  he  follow 
ed  the  others.  These  were  all  gathered  in 
a  group,  and  though  conversation  had  not 
been  prohibited,  they  were  all  quite  silent, 
as  was  perhaps  natural.  Among  them  was 
Lopez,  who  had  come  there  among  the  first. 
He  stood  there  silent,  watchful,  and  atten 
tive.  He  regarded  the  Russell  party  in 
particular,  and  marked  their  arrest. 

It  was  now  Ashby's  turn.  He  came  up 
and  threw  down  his  purse  and  watch.  The 
Carlist  chief  scrutinized  him  carefully,  and 
then  said, 

"  Senor,  you,  being  a  foreigner,  are  to  be 
detained  for  a  future  examination." 

"  May  I  join  the  other  foreigners  ?v  asked 
Ashby. 

The  Carlist  chief  shook  his  head. 

"Pardon  me,  senor,  but  His  Majesty  has 
issued  strict  orders,  which  must  be  obeyed. 
Each  foreigner  must  be  examined  by  him 
self.  The  regulations  are  very  stringent." 

With  this  he  directed  one  of  his  men  to 
lead  the  prisoner  away ;  and  Ashby,  who 
for  a  moment  had  hoped  that  he  would  be 
able  to  join  the  Russell  party,  now,  to  his 
great  chagrin,  found  himself  led  away  to 
another  place  too  distant  to  allow  of  any 
communication  with  his  friends. 

The  mere  fact  of  this  arrest  was  not  so 
bad  to  Ashby,  since  the  others  were  in  the 
same  case  precisely ;  but  in  this  continued 
separation  from  them  he  found  material 
for  fresh  suspicion  and  renewed  jealousy. 
Katie  seemed  to  him  to  be  altogether  too 


bright,  and  lively,  and  joyous.  He  could 
see  that  she  was  laughing  and  talking  with 
Harry  quite  merrily.  This  separation,  which 
brought  sorrow  to  him,  evidently  brought 
joy  to  her.  Was  she,  then,  after  all,  a  mere 
shallow  flirt?  Had  all  her  love  been 
feigned?  Was  it  possible  that  she  could 
so  soon  forget  ?  With  these  thoughts,  and 
others  like  them,  this  idiotic  youth  persist 
ed  in  tormenting  himself. 

At  length  the  examination  was  ended, 
and  at  its  close  the  Carlist  chief  improved 
the  occasion  by  addressing  a  few  words  to 
the  Spaniards.  He  reminded  them  that 
Don  Carlos  was  their  rightful  king;  that 
this  contribution  was  no  more  than  his 
due ;  that  they,  one  and  all,  ought  to  cher 
ish  a  lively  affection  for  his  sacred  person ; 
that  they  ought  to  continue  this  good  work 
which  they  had  begun  by  sending  more ; 
and  that  the  king  would  be  graciously 
pleased  to  accept  whatever  they  might 
contribute.  In  his  own  person  the  gallant 
chieftain  thanked  them,  and  also  in  the 
name  of  His  Majesty,  for  their  generous 
contributions.  Finally,  he  informed  them 
that  His  Majesty,  in  his  boundless  pity  and 
compassion,  had  graciously  permitted  them 
to  resume  their  journey.  The  only  excep 
tion  to  this  permission  was  that  of  a  few 
foreigners,  who  were  detained,  lest  there 
might  be  spies  among  them.  Against  gen 
try  of  this  sort,  His  Majesty's  government 
had  to  be  particularly  on  their  guard.  The 
country  was  swarming  with  them.  They 
generally  pretended  to  be  news  correspond 
ents,  but  in  reality  they  were  paid  agents 
of  the  enemy.  If  any  such  should  be 
caught,  they  would  be  shown  no  mercy. 

With  this  address  he  dismissed  the 
Spanish  portion  of  the  passengers,  who 
hastily  re-entered  the  train.  The  English 
prisoners  were  allowed  to  retain  their  lug 
gage.  Accompanied  by  some  Carlists,  they 
chose  out  what  they  thought  needful,  and 
this  was  set  aside.  Russell  took  nearly  all 
of  his.  Meanwhile  others  of  the  band  went 
through  the  train,  and  helped  themselves 
to  whatever  seemed  useful.  Among  the 
things  thus  selected  as  useful  were  the 
mail-bags,  which,  like  the  foreigners,  were 
taken  away  for  further  examination. 

After  this  the  obstructions  were  removed 
from  the  road,  the  engine  started,  the  train 
went  on  its  way,  and  the  prisoners  saw  it 
no  more. 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

HOW   HARRY   AND    KATIE    MANAGE   TO   ENJOY   THEM 
SELVES   IN   THEIR   CAPTIVE    STATE. 

THE  train  moved  off;  and  as  the  puffing 
and  panting  of  the  engine,  the  rumble  of 
the  wheels,  and  the  shriek  of  the  whistle 
died  away  in  the  distance,  the  captive  pas 
sengers  felt  desolate  indeed,  for  it  seemed 
as  though  hope  itself  had  been  taken  from 
them. 

The  Carlist  chief  then  spent  some  time 
in  examining  the  contributions  of  the  loyal 
subjects  of  King  Charles.  These  appeared 
to  give  him  much  satisfaction,  and,  after 
due  inspection,  were  gathered  up  and  de 
posited  in  a  stout  oaken  chest. 

He  now  turned  his  attention  to  the  pris 
oners,  and  briefly  examined  them  as  to  their 
nationality,  residence,  etc.  Harry  acted  as 
general  interpreter,  so  that  there  was  no  dif 
ficulty  in  coining  to  a  full  understanding. 
The  chief  informed  them  that  they  would 
have  to  be  conveyed  to  another  place  for 
fuller  examination.  He  deplored  the  ne 
cessity  of  this,  and  advised  them  to  be  pa 
tient,  telling  them  that  they  should  be  put 
to  as  little  trouble  as  possible,  and  that  all 
would  no  doubt  turn  out  well  in  the  end. 
This  he  said  first  to  the  Russell  party,  and 
afterward  to  Ashby.  The  Russell  party 
had  nothing  to  say,  except  old  Russell  him 
self,  who  said,  perhaps,  more  than  was  pru 
dent  under  such  delicate  circumstances. 
He  chafed  and  fumed,  all  in  English,  and 
muttered  something  about  British  iron 
clads  and  writing  to  the  Times.  He  also 
made  some  vague  threats  about  the  wrath 
of  England,  and  made  the  statement  that 
Britons  never  would  be  slaves.  But  this 
was  in  English,  and  Harry  did  not  think  it 
worth  while,  on  the  whole,  to  translate  it 
to  the  Carlist  chief.  Nor  did  Harry  feel 
very  much  inclined  to  say  anything  on  his 
own  behalf.  There  was,  indeed,  nothing  to 
be  said ;  and,  besides,  he  happened  to  be 
enjoying  himself  very  much  with  the  young 
ladies. 

The  Carlist  chief  made  the  same  state 
ment  to  Ashby,  who  once  more  tried  to  ef 
fect  a  communication  with  his  friends. 

"  Will  you  allow  me  now,  Sefior  Captain," 
he  said,  "  to  join  the  other  foreign  prison 
ers  ?  They  are  my  fellow-countrymen,  and, 
in  fact,  my  intimate  friends." 

"  Certainly,  senor,"  said  the  Carlist  chief, 
graciously.  "  For  my  own  part,  I  have  no 
objection — that  is,  for  the  present.  But  I 


must  first  see  what  they  have  to  say  about 
it." 

He  did  so. 

Ashby  would  have  gained  his  wish  if  it 
had  not  been  for  Russell.  When  the  Car- 
list  chief  informed  them  that  the  other  Eng 
lishman  wished  to  join  them,  Russell  made 
Harry  translate  this  to  him.  The  moment 
that  he  understood  the  request,  he  burst 
forth  into  a  passionate  tirade  against  Ash- 
by  ;  and  all  the  rage  and  fury  that  might 
be  due  to  this  misadventure  was  now  pour 
ed  forth  upon  Ashby's  head. 

"The  infernal  puppy!"  .he  cried.  "He 
join  us?  Never!  I'd  rather  turn  Carlist 
myself,  or  brigand.  If  he  is  forced  upon 
us,  I  will  keep  my  wife  and  my  ward  apart 
and  aloof  from  him.  Oh,  curse  it  all !  if  I 
could  only  speak  Spanish  !  But,  Mr.  Riv 
ers,  I  insist  upon  your  telling  this  Spanish 
captain  that  we  will  not  have  it." 

And  so  on.  Harry  found  it  useless  to  ar 
gue  with  him,  and  so  he  told  the  Carlist 
chief  that  Russell  objected.  The  Carlist 
chief  then  returned  and  told  Ashby,  to 
whom  this  was  another  cruel  blow. 

"It  will  make  no  difference,"  said  the 
Carlist  chief,  who  saw  his  dejection,  "as 
you  will  all  be  taken  to  the  same  place." 

Two  mules  were  now  driven  up,  harness 
ed  to  a  curious  vehicle  that  might  have 
taken  Noah  and  family  to  the  ark.  Into 
this  the  Russell  party  entered,  namely,  Mr. 
Russell,  Mrs.  Russell.  Katie,  Dolores,  and 
Hany.  In  addition  to  these  there  was  the 
driver.  Armed  men  followed  on  foot. 

Another  similar  vehicle  drove  up  to  take 
the  luggage,  and  into  this  Ashby  was  told 
to  go.  Some  time  was  occupied  in  loading 
this,  so  that  when  Ashby  started  the  others 
were  already  far  ahead. 

The  Russell  party  were  conveyed  very 
sl9wly.  At  first  their  route  lay  along  a 
plain,  and  then  when  this  was  traversed 
they  began  to  ascend  among  the  moun 
tains.  The  pace  had  all  along  been  slow 
enough,  but  now  it  became  a  crawl.  The 
party  were  variously  occupied.  Russell 
was  grumbling  and  growling;  Mrs.  Russell 
was  sighing  and  whining ;  Dolores  was  si 
lent  and  thoughtful ;  Harry,  however,  main 
tained  his  usual  flow  of  spirits,  and  found 
in  Katie  a  congenial  soul.  These  two  had 
been  devoting  themselves  to  one  another 
during  the  whole  journey,  and  by  this  time 
they  felt  quite  like  old  friends.  Each  had 
a  lively  disposition,  too  buoyant  to  remain 
depressed,  and  each  was  glad  to  take  any 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


opportunity  of  rallying  from  the  strokes  of 
adverse  fortune.  Thus  each  was  able  to  as 
sist  the  other  bravely  in  the  noble  effort  to 
rise  superior  to  circumstances. 

"  This  is  a  bore,"  said  Harry,  "  a  beastly 
bore !  I  know  what  I  should  like  to  do — 
I  should  walk,  if  it  were  not  that  I  very 
much  prefer  being  with  you." 

"But  I  should  like  to  walk  too,"  said 
Katie.  "Do  you  think  they  will  let  us, Mr. 
Rivers?  It  would  be  too  lovely  !" 

"  Will  you,  really  ?"  said  Harry,  in  a  joy 
ous  voice.  "  Oh,  they'll  let  us,  fusj  enough. 
I'll  ask." 

So  Harry  asked,  and  permission  was 
granted  readily  enough,  for  the  mules 
could  then  go  on  faster,  and  there  was  no 
danger  of  these  two  escaping  from  twenty 
armed  men.  Accordingly,  Harry  got  out 
and  assisted  Katie  in  the  usual  way,  name 
ly,  by  lifting  her  down.  They  then  fell  be 
hind  the  wagon,  walking  along  at  a  slow 
pace,  having  this  advantage,  that,  although 
they  were  not  making  any  greater  progress 
than  before,  they  were  left  more  to  them 
selves,  and  were  under  less  restraint. 

"  Do  you  like  this  ?"  asked  Harry,  as  they 
trudged  along. 

"Oh, very  much  indeed." 

"It's  better  than  the  wagon, isn't  it?" 

"  I'm  so  airfully  tired  of  the  wagon !"  said 
Katie. 

"And  we  can  talk  without  being  over 
heard,"  said  Harry.  "  Of  course  I  don't 
mean  to  say  that  we  say  anything  that  ev 
erybody  mightn't  hear ;  but  then,  you  know, 
Miss  Westlotorn,  one  can  talk  much  more 
freely  when  one  isn't  surrounded  by  a  cold 
ly  critical  audience." 

At  this  Katie  laughed,  and  stole  a  shy, 
sidelong  glance  at  him,  as  though  she  sus 
pected  some  deeper  meaning  in  his  words 
than  that  which  appeared  on  the  surface. .. 

"Do  you  feel  very  much  frightened  at 
this  adventure  ?"  continued  Harry. 

"Me  frightened?"  said  Katie.  "Not  at 
all.  What  an  idea!" 

"Really  not?" 

"No,  really.  Do  you  know,  I'm  rather 
fond  of  adventures." 

"But  isn't  this  a  little  too  serious?" 

"  Why,  Mr.  Rivers,  I'm  sure  I  think  it's 
delightful.  These  men  are  Caiiists,  and  all 
Carlists  are  gentlemen.  I  dote  on  Carlists 
—I  do,  really." 

"Well,  so  do  I— if  you  do,"  said  Harry, 
laughingly;  "only  you  must  allow  that  it 
isn't  a  very  gentlemanly  thing  to  stop  us 


on  our  journey,  relieve  us  of  our  purses, 
and  carry  us  off  to  parts  unknown  in  a 
mule-cart." 

"  Oh,  you  shouldn't  look  at  it  in  that 
light.  That's  too  awfully  prosaic.  Now 
I'm  romantic,  and  I'm  positively  grateful 
to  them  for  providing  me  with  such  a  de 
lightful  little  adventure." 

"  Do  you  love  adventures  ?" 

"  Love  them  ?"  replied  Katie,  with  the 
drollest  look  in  the  world.  "  Why,  I  posi 
tively  dote  on  them !" 

Her  smile  was  so  sweet,  and  her  face  so 
bewitching,  that  Harry  thought  he  never 
saw  any  face  so  lovely. 

"You  see,"  continued  Katie,  "I  mope 
and  mope,  and  keep  moping  so ;  and  things 
grow  so  tiresome,  that  I  fairly  ache  for  an 
adventure." 

"Well,  but  suppose  that  you  were  in  an 
awful  hurry  to  meet  some  one,  and  were 
stopped  in  this  fashion  ?" 

At  this  Katie's  whole  expression  changed. 
She  looked  at  Harry  with  a  face  full  of 
sympathy,  behind  which  there  was  visible 
the  most  intense  curiosity. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Rivers,"  said  she,  "  I'm  so  sor 
ry  !  And  are  you  in  an  awful  hurry  to 
meet  some  one  ?" 

"Awful!"  said  Harry. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Rivers,  I'm  so  sorry  !"  said  Ka 
tie  again.  "And  won't  you  tell  me  all 
about  it,  please  ?" 

Now  Harry  was  by  nature  inclined  to 
make  the  world  his  confidant;  and  how 
much  more  was  he  ready  to  confide  in  such 
a  one  as  Katie,  who  invited  his  confidence 
with  such  tender  sympathy !  Besides,  he 
already  felt,  as  has  been  said,  quite  like  an 
old  acquaintance.  Ashby's  relations  to  Ka 
tie  made  her  seem  nearer  to  him.  She  was 
his  friend's  betrothed.  And  then,  too,  he 
had  been  chatting  with  her  all  day  long. 

"  You  see,"  said  he,  "  I'm  on  the  lookout 
for  a  friend." 

At  this  Katie  smiled  with  indescribable 
comicality. 

"Won't  I  do?"  she  asked. 

Harry  stared  at  her  for  a  moment,  and 
then  burst  into  a  laugh,  in  which  Katie 
joined  merrily. 

"  I  dare  say  now,  Mr.  Rivers,"  said  she, 
"  you  think  I'm  too  slight  an  acquaintance 
to  be  trusted ;  but  you  know,  in  Spain, 
when  one  meets  with  a  fellow-countryman 
who  can  speak  English,  why,  you  know,  one 
can't  help  feeling  quite  like  an  old  friend, 
and  that  sort  of  thing ;  and,  mind  you,  when 


24 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


one  lias  been  taken  prisoner  by  the  Carlists, 
one  feels  much  more  so,  you  know.  But 
all  the  same,  I  hope  you1!!  excuse  me ;  I 
didn't  mean  any  harm." 

At  this  Harry  laughed  still  more. 

"  You're  not  mad  ?"  said  Katie,  with  a 
droll  assumption  of  anxiety. 

"  Will  you  really  be  my  friend  ?"  asked 
Harry. 

"  Of  course.  Didn't  I  say  as  much  ?"  said 
Katie. 

"  Then  let's  shake  hands  over  it,"  said 
Harry,  "  and  swear  an  eternal  friendship." 

Saying  this,  he  held  out  his  hand,  and 
Katie  held  out  hers.  Harry  pressed  it 
warmly  and  tenderly. 

"  Well,"  said  Harry,  after  a  pause,  "  I'll 
tell  you  all  about  it,  for  I  want  your — your 
sympathy,  you  know,  and  your  advice,  you 
know,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know." 

"Well,  do  you  know,  Mr. Rivers,"  said 
Katie,  "  that's  my  strong  point.  I  always 
have  at  my  disposal  any  amount  of  sympa 
thy;  and  as  for  advice,  why,  I  could  begin 
and  go  on  advising,  and  advising,  and  ad 
vising,  from  now  till— well,  not  to  be  too 
extravagant,  I'll  merely  say  till  doomsday. 
So  now — won't  you  begin  ?" 


CHAPTER  VII. 

IN  WHICH  HARRY  BECOMES  CONFIDENTIAL,  AND  TELLS 
A  VERY  REMARKABLE  STORY. 

HARRY  paused  a  little  longer,  and  then 
said, 

"Well,  you  see,  the  friend  that  I  wanted 
to  see  is  a  lady." 

"Of  course,"  said  Katie;  "that's  a  self- 
evident  fact.  I  know  that,  and  she  is  your 
ladylove.  But  I  want  to  know  all  about 
her,  and,  first  of  all,  her  name." 

"  I  didn't  think  that  you  thought  I  was 
thinking  of  a  lady,"  said  Harry. 

"What  a  ridiculous  observation!"  said 
Katie ;  "  and  I  know  you  only  say  that  to 
tease  me,  when  you  know  I'm  so  curious 
about  this  friend  of  yours." 

"Well,"  said  Harry,  "in  the  first  place, 
her  name  is  Talbot." 

"Talbot?     What  else?" 

"  Sydney— Sydney  Talbot," 

"  Sydney  Talbot !  But  that  isn't  a  girl's 
name ;  it's  a  man's  name." 

"  At  any  rate,"  said  Harry, "  it's  her  name." 

"  Well,  but  hasn't  she  some  pet  name- 
something  more  feminine,  such  as '  Minnie,' 


for  instance,  or  '  Nellie,'  or '  Kittle,'  or  '  Flor- 
rie,'  or  something  of  that  sort  ?" 

"  No ;  her  only  name  is  Sydney  Talbot. 
You  see,  Sydney  is  a  family  name,  and  had 
to  be  perpetuated.  She  had  no  brothers, 
and  so  it  was  given  to  her.  Her  father's 
name  was  also  Sydney  Talbot,  and  her 
grandfath er's,  an d  — ' ' 

"And  her  great-grandfather's,"  chimed 
in  Katie,  "  and  so  on  up  to  Noah ;  but  his 
name,  at  any  rate,  was  not  Sydney  Talbot, 
Now  this  is  a  very  romantic  beginning,  so 
go  on.  I  will  only  remark  that  I  intend  to 
be  great  friends  with  your  wife  some  day, 
and  that  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  call  her 
'  Syddie.'  She  is  actually  pining  for  a  pet 
name.  But  what  do  you  call  her  ?" 

"  I  ?     Oh,  I  call  her  Miss  Talbot." 

"Miss!  You  call  her  Miss  — Talbot? 
What  a  horrible  idea !  And  you  pretend 
to  love  her  !"  cried  Katie,  reproachfully. 

"Well  —  but,  you  know,  Sydney  is  too 
stiff." 

"  Then  why  not  invent  a  name  ?  Call 
her  '  Poppet,'  or  '  Topsj7,'  or  '  Fifine,'  or  '  Ro- 
sie,'  or  '  Gracie.'  Why,  I  could  supply  you 
with  fifty  or  sixty  names  on  the  spot.  But 
this  is  all  idle  trifling.  Go  on  and  tell  me 
more.  Give  a  full  and  complete  account 
of  yourself  and  your '  own  one.'  " 

"  Well,  you  know,  I'm  doing  business  in 
Barcelona,  and  we  were  engaged  to  be  mar 
ried  last  year." 

"  Did  you  see  her  last  in  Barcelona  ?" 

"  No,  in  England,  last  year.  I  met  her  in 
London." 

"  Have  you  not  seen  her  since  ?" 

"  No.  We  have  corresponded  ever  since, 
and  this  marriage  was  arranged  by  letter." 

"  Oh,  but  you're  not  married  yet  ?"  said 
Katie,  in  a  low  voice. 

"No,"  said  Harry,  "and  Heaven  only 
knows  when  we  ever  shall  be." 

"Why?" 

"  Oh,  well — because  there's  been  such  a 
muddle  about  it  all.  You  see,  I  proposed, 
and  was  accepted,  in  the  usual  course  of 
things." 

"  Ah,  now,  Mr.  Rivers,"  said  Katie, "  that's 
not  fair !" 

"Fair!  what  isn't  fair ?" 

"Why,  you're  skipping  all  the  best 
part." 

"  The  best  part  ?    I  don't  understand." 

"  Well,  I  mean  you're  leaving  out  all  the 
love  parts.  I  want  to  hear  all  about  your 
love  affair  —  how  you  first  saw  her;  how 
you  felt;  how  she  treated  you;  how  you 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


25 


were  tormented  by  the  pangs  of  jealousy, 
agitated  by  hope  and  fear,  until  you  knew 
that  she  was  yours.  And  you  have  the 
heart  to  skip  all  this  and  go  on  to  the  stu 
pid,  commonplace  end  of  it !" 

Harry  laughed. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "the  end  of  my  case 
has  not  yet  come  ;  and  the  farther  on  I  go 
the  more  exciting  it  grows.  But  I'll  tell 
you  all  if  you  want  me  to.  Shall  I  begin 
at  the  beginning,  and  tell  you  how  I  first 
became  acquainted  with  her  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  do !"  said  Katie,  eagerly. 

"Well,  it  was  at  sea,  in  a  tremendous 
gale,  when  we  both  were  face  to  face  with 
death." 

At  this  Katie  threw  up  her  eyes,  clasped 
her  hands,  and  exclaimed, 

"Oh,  how  perfectly  #i'-quisite !  how  ut 
terly  delicious  !  how  quite  too  awfully  jol 
ly  !  But  when  ?  where  ?  Oh,  do  go  on  1" 

"It  was  aboard  the  steamer  from  Mar 
seilles  to  Leghorn.  During  the  night  af 
ter  leaving  a  furious  storm  arose.  The 
steamer  was  an  old  rattletrap,  and  soon  be 
gan  to  leak  fearfully.  I  was  in  my  berth, 
trying  to  sleep,  when  at  last  I  was  roused 
by  a  yell  from  all  the  crew  and  passengers. 
I  rushed  out  and  on  deck,  and  saw  the  sea 
all  breaking  in  foam  over  the  vessel.  The 
passengers  and  crew  were  all  mixed  up  in 
a  wild,  confused  mass,  trying  to  scramble 
into  the  boats.  This  was  made  visible  by 
the  lightning  flashes  at  intervals,  after 
which  everything  would  become  as  black 
as  night.  I  saw  that  nothing  could  be 
done,  so  I  took  my  station  near  the  mizzen 
shrouds,  and  held  on  there,  waiting  for  the 
end.  While  here  I  saw  a  female  figure 
crouching  down  under  the  bulwarks  and 
clinging  there.  Partly  out  of  pity,  and 
partly  for  the  sake  of  having  something  to 
do,  I  helped  her  up  to  her  feet,  held  her  up 
in  that  position,  and  told  her  to  cling  to 
the  shrouds,  and  stay  by  me  as  long  as  she 
possibly  could. 

"At  length,  in  the  midst  of  a  flash  of 
lightning,  I  happened  to  notice  that  the 
jolly-boat  was  hanging  from  the  davits 
astern.  No  one  was  near :  every  one  was 
running  about  forward.  I  determined  to 
make  an  effort  for  life.  The  wroman  was 
almost  senseless,  so  I  half  carried,  half  drag 
ged  her  to  the  boat  and  got  her  in.  Then 
I  passed  a  line  around  the  seat  of  the  boat 
and  secured  her  to  it ;  after  which  I  began 
to  lower  the  boat  down.  This  was  a 
deuced  hard  job,  but  I  managed  it  at  last. 


Then  I  jumped  in,  and  cut  the  line  that 
held  us,  and  away  we  went  in  the  boat, 
which  was  sent  spinning  along  like  a  feath 
er  over  the  boiling  sea.  I  don't  know  how 
we  kept  afloat,  but  we  did.  The  woman 
never  spoke  one  word.  So  we  passed  a 
fearful  night,  and  at  length  morning  came. 
Then  the  woman  began  to  cry  bitterly.  I 
soothed  her  as  wrell  as  I  could. 

"We  were  in  a  terrible  situation.  The 
storm  had  nearly  gone  down,  but  we  were 
threatened  with  something  worse,  for  we 
had  neither  water  nor  provisions.  I  gave 
my  companion  some  brandy,  which  revived 
her.  We  were  far  away  out  of  sight  of 
land,  and  no  sails  were  visible  anywhere. 
I  had  a  couple  of  oars,  and  with  these  I 
pulled  toward  the  north.  My  companion 
soon  regained  her  composure  and  her 
strength,  and  we  were  able  to  discuss  our 
prospects.  She  told  me  her  name  and  des 
tination.  She  was  on  her  way  to  Rome  to 
join  her  father,  in  company  with  an  aged 
relative  and  her  maid.  Her  father  had 
been  ill,  and  had  been  living  in  Italy  for 
his  health.  She  was  anxious  about  him, 
but  still  more  troubled  about  her  relative, 
who  had  been  left  on  board  the  steamer. 

"  Miss  Talbot  was  very  beautiful,  and  the 
most  unselfish  person  I  ever  saw.  She  was 
perpetually  trying  to  lighten  my  labor. 
She  insisted  on  taking  an  oar  and  trying 
to  row.  She  bore  up  most  uncomplainingly 
against  our  hardships.  In  fact,  she  acted 
like  a  regular  brick.  Of  course,  before  I 
had  talked  with  her  half  an  hour  I  was 
head  over  heels  in  love  with  her." 

"  But  it's  awfully  nice  to  have  your  life 
saved,  and  be  alone  together  in  a  boat  like 
that,"  said  Katie.  She  spoke  in  an  injured 
tone,  as  though  a  shipwreck  was  something 
highly  desirable,  which  a  harsh  fate  had 
cruelly  kept  away  from  her. 

"Well,"  continued  Harry,  "we  starved, 
and  starved,  and  choked  with  thirst,  for 
two  or  three  days ;  but  she  never  uttered 
one  single  murmur." 

"  I  should  think  not,"  said  Katie.  "  What 
had  she  to  complain  of?  What  more  could 
she  want?  Why,  it  was  utterly  lovely  !  I'm 
sure  I  shouldn't  care  to  eat  one  single  bit  if 
I  were  in  such  a  situation.  I  could  not  be 
hungry  at  such  times — I  never  am.  Hun 
gry,  indeed !" 

The  idea  was  too  absurd,  so  Katie  dis 
missed  it  with  scorn. 

"  I  could  see,"  continued  Harry,  "  that 
she  was  suffering.  Her  face  grew  paler 


28 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


and  paler.  She  was  evidently  growing 
weaker.  She  looked  at  me  piteously — " 

"  Oh,  you  will  be  so  prosaic !"  interrupted 
Katie.  "  Can't  you  see  that  it  wasn't  hun 
ger  at  all  ?  It's  the  old,  old  story : 

" '  Then  her  cheek  was  pale,  and  thinuer 

Than  should  be  for  one  so  young, 
And  her  eyes  on  all  my  motions 
With  a  mute  observance  hung.' 

"And  I  said,"  continued  Katie — 

"  'And  I  said, my  dearest  Pard'ner, 

Speak,  and  speak  the  truth  to  me  ; 
Trust  me,  Pard'ner;  all  the  current 
Of  my  being  turns  to  thee.' 

"  The  fact  is,"  she  added,  abruptly,  "  I  be 
lieve  you're  making  up  nearly  the  whole 
of  this !" 

"Making  it  up!"  cried  Harry.  "Me! 
Why  ?" 

"  Why,  because  such  delightful  situations 
never  do  occur  in  real  life.  It's  only  in  fic 
tion." 

"No,  really,  now — it  was  really  so,"  said 
Harry.  "  Why  should  I  make  this  up  ? 
Really,  on  my  honor — " 

"Well,  you're  coloring  the  facts,  at  least," 
said  Katie.  "  If  it's  all  true,  I  think  it's 
hard  on  poor  people  like  me,  that  never 
can  find  any  pleasant  excitement  to  break 
the  monotony  of  life.  But  never  mind — 
please  go  on." 

"Well,"  continued  Harry,  "we  drifted  on 
for  several  days.  We  saw  vessels,  but  they 
were  too  far  away  to  see  us.  At  last  we 
came  in  sight  of  land,  and  there  we  wrere 
picked  up  by  a  boat  that  took  us  to  Leg 
horn.  I  then  went  on  with  Miss  Talbot  to 
Rome.  I  learned  that  we  were  the  only 
ones  that  had  been  saved  out  of  the  ill- 
fated  steamer.  Miss  Talbot's  father,  who, 
as  I  said,  was  an  invalid,  had  heard  the 
news,  and,  thinking  his  daughter  lost,  sank 
under  the  blow.  On  our  arrival  at  Rome 
he  was  dead.  It  was  a  mournful  end  to 
our  journey. 

"He  was  buried  in  Rome.  Miss  Talbot 
returned  to  England  witli  an  English  fam 
ily,  with  whom  her  father  had  been  ac 
quainted.  I  did  not  intrude  on  her  just 
then,  but  paid  her  a  visit  afterward.  At 
that  time  we  came  to  an  understanding, 
and  then  I  went  back  to  Barcelona.  .And 
now  I  come  to  the  real  point  of  my  story — 
the  thing  that  I  was  going  to  tell  you." 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  very  much  obliged,"  said 
Katie,  "  for  what  you've  told  rtfe  thus  far !" 

"  Now,  Miss  Talbot,  you  must  know,  has 
very  few  relatives.  She's  the  last  of  an 


ancient  family,  and  one  or  two  uncles  and 
aunts  are  all  that  are  left  besides  herself. 
Her  life  has  been  by  no  means  gay,  or  even 
cheerful,  and  perhaps  that  was  one  reason 
why  she  was  willing  to  accept  me." 

"  How  delightful  it  is,"  said  Katie,  "  to 
see  such  perfect  modesty !  Mr.  Rivers,  you 
are  almost  too  diffident  to  live!" 

"  Oh,  but  really  I  mean  that  a  girl  like 
Miss  Talbot,  with  her  wealth,  and  ancient 
family,  and  social  standing,  and  all  that, 
might  have  the  pick  of  all  the  best  fellows 
in  the  country." 

"  That  stands  to  reason ;  and  so  you  im 
ply  that  when  such  a  lady  chose  you,  you — 

"  Ah,  now,  Miss  Westlotorn,  I  didn't,"  said 
Harry.  "  I'm  not  so  infernally  conceited  as 
all  that,  you  know." 

"  But  hadn't  she  promised  in  the  boat  ?" 

"  In  the  boat !     Well,  yes—" 

"  Of  course :  then  wThy  did  she  have  to 
choose  you  again  ?" 

"  Oh,  well — in  the  boat  it  was  an  infor 
mal  sort  of  thing.  But  never  mind.  She 
promised  to  marry  me,  and  I  went  back 
to  Baicelona.  We  then  corresponded  for 
about  a  year." 

"How  awfully  dreary!"  sighed  Katie. 
"  I  do  so  detest  letter-writing !  If  I  had 
to  write  letters,  I  would  break  the  engage 
ment." 

"  Well,  it's  a  bother,  of  course,"  said  Har 
ry  ;  "  but,  after  all,  a  letter  is  the  only  sub 
stitute  one  can  have  for  the  absent  one." 

"And  how  long  is  it  since  you  last  saw 
her?" 

"A  year." 

"  A  year !  Why,  you  must  have  utterly 
forgotten  what  she  looks  like.  Should  you 
be  able  to  recognize  her,  if  you  were  to 
meet  her  in  a  crowd  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Harry,  with  a  laugh. 
"Now  you  must  know  that  when  I  was 
engaged  I  expected  to  go  to  England  in 
about  three  months'  time  to  get  married. 
Business,  however,  detained  me.  I  hoped 
to  go  again,  a  few  months  later.  But  the 
fact  is,  I  found  it  impossible;  and  so  on 
for  a  whole  year  I  was  detained,  until  at 
last  I  had  to  write,  imploring  her  to  come 
out  to  me  and  be  married  in  Barcelona." 

"  Well,  for  my  part,  I  never  would  marry 
a  man  unless  he  came  for  me,"  said  Katie. 

"Then  I'm  glad,"  said  Harry,  "that  you 
are  not  Miss  Talbot.  She  was  not  so  cruel 
as  that ;  for  though  at  first  she  refused,  she 
at  last  consented  and  promised  to  come. 
This,  however,  was  only  after  long  begging 


I 

w       t  AT       jt  yj x 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


on  my  part,  and  a  full  explanation  of  the 
difficulties  of  my  position.  So  she  consent 
ed,  and  finally  mentioned  a  certain  day  on 
which' she  would  leave ;  and  that  was  about 
a  fortnight  ago. 

"  Now,  you  know,  all  the  time,  I  felt  aw 
fully  about  her  having  to  come  on  alone, 
until  at  length,  as  ill-luck  would  have  it, 
it  so  happened  that  I  was  able  to  steal  a 
few  days  from  my  business.  So  I  deter 
mined,  after  all,  to  go  on  for  her.  Fool 
that  I  was,  I  didn't  telegraph  !  There  was 
no  time  to  write,  of  course.  You  see,  I  was 
such  an  idiot  that  I  only  thought  of  giving 
her  a  pleasant  surprise.  This  filled  my 
mind  and  occupied  all  my  thoughts,  and 
all  the  way  on  I  was  chuckling  to  myself 
over  my  scheme ;  and  I  kept  fancying  how 
delighted  she  would  be  at  finding  that,  af 
ter  all,  she  would  not  have  to  make  the 
journey  alone.  I  was  so  full  of  this  that 
I  couldn't  think  of  anything  else.  And 
now  I  should  like  to  ask  you  calmly,  Miss 
"VYestlotorn,  one  simple  question  :  Did  you 
ever  hear  in  all  your  life  of  such  a  perfect 
and  unmitigated  chuckle-head  ?" 

"  Never !"  said  Katie,  in  a  demure  tone. 

"  Well,"  continued  Harry,  ruefully,  "  luck 
was  against  me.  I  met  with  several  de 
lays  of  a  tedious  kind,  and  lost  in  all  about 
two  days.  At  last  I  got  to  my  destination, 
and  then — then — in  one  word,  there  came  a 
thunder-clap.  What  do  you  think  ?" 

"  What  ?" 

"  She  was  gone !" 

"Gone?1' 

"  Yes.  She  had  gone  the  day  before  my 
arrival.  She  had  written  again,  and  had 
telegraphed.  She  had  then  set  out,  expect 
ing  me  to  receive  her  with  all  a  lover's  ea 
gerness  at  Barcelona,  at  the  hotel  which  I 
had  mentioned  to  her  in  my  last  letter,  and 
hoping  also  that  I  might  possibly  turn  up 
at  any  station  after  passing  the  Pyrenees. 
What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  Wasn't  that 
a  blow  ?  And  was  it  my  fault  ?" 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Katie,  in  a  sooth 
ing  voice.  "  Not  your  fault,  only  your  mis 
fortune.  But  what  did  her  friends  say  ?" 

"  Her  friends  ?  Oh,  they  were  awfully 
indignant,  of  course,  but  I  couldn't  wait 
to  explain  it  all  to  them.  The  moment  I 
found  out  how  it  was,  I  turned  on  my  heel 
and  hurried  back  to  Barcelona.  I  travel 
led  night  and  day.  I  got  there  without 
any  interruption,  and  rushed  to  the  hotel 
where,  according  to  my  direction,  she  was 
to  have  gone." 


"  Well,"  asked  Katie,  as  Harry  paused, 
"was  she  there?" 

"  No,"  said  Harry ;  "  but,  worst  of  all,  she 
had  been  there  !  Yes,  she  had  been  there. 
She  had  made  the  journey;  she  had  reach 
ed  Barcelona ;  and  I — I,  for  whom  she  had 
come,  I  was  not  there  to  meet  her.  Well, 
when  I  did  get  back  she  was  gone." 

"  Gone  ? — gone  where  ?" 

"  Why,  where  else  could  she  have  gone 
but  home  again  ?" 

"  True.  Being  a  girl  of  spirit,  she  never 
could  stand  such  treatment  as  that.  But 
did  she  leave  no  message  for  you  ?" 

"  Not  a  word,  either  in  writing  or  in  any 
other  way.  I  asked  the  hotel  people  about 
her,  but  they  knew  nothing  in  particular. 
She  had  not  told  anything  about  herself. 
She  had  come,  and,  after  two  or  three  days, 
had  gone.  She  had  gone  only  the  day  be 
fore  I  got  back." 

"And  you,  of  course,  must  have  started 
after  her  all  the  way  back  to  England,  and 
that's  the  reason  why  you  are  here — " 

"  Yes,"  said  Harry :  "  the  only  hope  I  had 
was  to  overtake  the  train  that  preceded 
me.  It  was  not  impossible  that  it  might 
be  delayed,  and  that  my  train  should  come 
up  with  hers.  That  was  my  only  hope,  but 
of  course  all  this  is  now  up." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Katie,  in  a  consoling 
tone,  "  you'll  see  her  again  before  long,  and 
you  can  explain  it  all ;  and  when  she  finds 
out  that  it  all  arose  from  an  excess  of  zeal, 
she  will  see  that  your  fault  was  one  on  the 
right  side,  and  she  will  love  you  all  the 
better.  And  so  you  will  both  have  many 
and  many  a  laugh  over  this  queer  misad 
venture  ;  and  it  will  be  something  that  will 
give  flavor  and  spice  to  all  your  future  life. 
Why,  I'd  give  anything  to  have  just  such 
an  adventure — I  would,  really.  I  wish  I 
was  in  Miss  Talbot's  place.  I  quite  envy 
her — I  do,  really ;  that  is,"  she  added,  with 
a  little  confusion,  "her  adventure,  yon 
know." 

"You  have  such  a  nice  way  of  putting 
things,"  said  Harry,  "  that  I  wish  I  could 
always  have  you  to  go  to  for  sympathy." 

"Sympathy?"  said  Katie.  "Oh,  you 
know  that's  quite  my  forte." 

Harry  looked  into  her  clear,  sunny  eyes 
as  they  were  raised  to  his,  full  of  bright 
ness,  and  archness,  and  joyousness. 

"  And  won't  you  let  me  call  you  '  Katie,'  " 
said  he,  "just  while  we're  travelling  to 
gether  ?  I  feel  so  awfully  well  acquainted 
with  you,  you  know ;  and  I've  told  you  all 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


about  my  affairs,  you  know,  just  as  if  you 
were  my  oldest  friend." 

"  I  should  like  it  above  all  tilings,"  said 
Katie.  "  I  hate  to  be  called  Miss  Westlo- 
torn  by  my  friends.  It's  too  formal." 

"And  you  must  call  me  ' Harry,'"  said 
this  volatile  young  man.  "  You  will,  now, 
won't  you  ?"  he  added,  in  a  coaxing  tone. 

Katie  did  not  prove  obdurate. 

"  Well— Harry,"  she  said,  with  a  bewitch 
ing  smile. 

"  I  think  you're  awfully  nice,"  said  Harry. 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  I  think  you're  a  very 
nice  boy,"  said  Katie,  in  a  childish  way. 

For  some  time  longer  the  party  contin 
ued  their  journey.  Harry  and  Katie  found 
walking  so  much  pleasanter  than  riding  in 
the  rude  cart  that  they  refused  to  get  into 
the  vehicle  again,  although  urged  to  do  so 
very  strongly  both  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Russell. 
For  his  part,  Harry  declared  that  he  in 
finitely  preferred  walking;  and  Katie,  on 
being  appealed  to,  said  that  the  jolts  of  the 
wagon  made  her  head  ache.  So  these  two 
continued  their  walk. 

Gradually  it  grew  darker,  and  the  twi 
light  deepened  with  the  rapidity  common 
in  southern  latitudes.  Then,  fearing  lest 
Katie  might  be  fatigued,  Harry  made  her 
take  his  arm.  After  this,  being  still  full 
of  anxious  fears  lest  so  fair  and  fragile  a 
being  might  sink  under  the  wearisome 
tramp,  he  took  her  little  hand  as  it  lay  on 
his  arm,  and  held  it  in  his  for  all  the  rest 
of  the  way.  And  what  Ashby  would  have 
said  or  thought  if  he  had  seen  that,  is  more 
than  I  cau  tell,  I'm  sure. 

The  moon  was  shining,  and  its  brilliancy 
was  wonderful.  Now  they  entered  among 
the  mountains.  Far  on  high  ascended  the 
lofty  wooded  slopes  on  one  side,  while  on 
the  other  they  descended  into  a  valley.  Be 
yond  this  there  were  other  heights,  while 
in  the  valley  between  there  was  a  beauti 
ful  winding  river.  A  turn  in  the  road 
brought  them  at  'length  to  a  place  where 
the  valley  widened,  and  far  away,  shining 
like  silver  in  the  moonbeams,  flowed  the 
river, 

"  With  many  a  winding  through  the  vale." 

All  around  rose  an  amphitheatre  of  hills, 
some  wooded,  some  precipitous,  and  be 
hind  these  rose  the  summits  of  loftier 
mountains  far  into  the  sky. 

Here,  full  before  them,  there  arose  a 
grand  and  stately  castle.  Perched  upon 
the  crest  of  a  spur  where  it  projected  from 


the  flank  of  a  mountain,  it  stood  before  the 
new-comers  the  centre  of  the  whole  scene, 
the  crown  and  glory  of  it  all.  In  the  gar 
ish  sunlight  there  might  have  been  per 
ceptible  many  and  many  a  mark  wrought 
by  the  destructive  hand  of  time,  for  ages 
had  passed  since  it  first  reared  its  lordly 
form  on  high.  Its  architecture  spoke  of 
hoar  antiquity,  of  a  time  long  past,  when 
the  Moor  still  fought  around  these  scenes, 
and  rushed  to  the  fight  to  the  war-cry  of 
Allah  Akbar!  But  now,  bathed  in  the 
mellow  moonlight,  this  ancient  castle  show 
ed  all  its  grand  proportions,  with  not  a 
trace  of  decay  or  desolation ;  and  its  mas 
sive  walls  arose  in  solemn  majesty;  its  bat 
tlements  frowned  in  heavy  shadows  over 
head  ;  its  lofty  towers  and  turrets  seemed 
still  able  to  defy  the  assaults  of  time  for 
ages  yet  to  come. 

For  some  time  past  the  country  had  been 
growing  steadily  wilder  and 'less  peopled, 
until  here  there  seemed  a  virtual  solitude. 
On  reaching  the  spot  the  party  found  a 
massive  gate-way  with  a  ponderous  portal. 
Beyond  this  opened  the  court-yard,  and  in 
the  distance  rose  the  keep.  Here  lights 
shone,  and  the  noise  of  revelry  came  to 
their  cars. 

And  no'w  the  prisoners  entered  and  were 
taken  in  charge  by  others,  and  Ashby,  who 
arrived  about  an  hour  afterward,  was  also 
taken  to  his  quarters. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

HOW   THE   SPANISH   PRIEST   MEETS   WITH  A   STRANGE 
ADVENTURE. 

THE  train,  which  had  been  released  by 
the  Carlists,  went  on  its  way,  and  after  run 
ning  about  ten  miles,  came  to  a  little  town. 
Here  a  long  stay  was  made,  during  which 
information  was  received  of  so  serious  a 
character  that  it  was  resolved,  for  the  pres 
ent  at  least,  not  to  go  any  farther.  In  the 
first  place,  the  train  which  had  immediately 
preceded  had  halted  at  the  next  station  be 
yond,  and  this  train  could  not  move  until 
the  other  had  started ;  but,  in  addition  to 
this,  there  came  reports  of  all  sorts,  to  the 
effect  that  the  whole  country  was  swarming 
with  Carlists,  who  had  occupied  the  lines 
of  railroad  and  cut  the  telegraph  wires.  It 
was  the  latter  circumstance  that  was  most 
troublesome,  since  it  made  it  impossible  to 
get  any  definite  information. 

The  end  of  it  was,  that  the  passengers 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


had  to  shift  for  themselves,  and  find  shelter 
and  occupation  as  best  they  could,  until 
they  should  be  able  to  go  on  to  their  des 
tinations  :  of  which  passengers  only  two 
need  be  mentioned  here,  namely,  Captain 
Lopez  and  the  priest.  The  former,  having 
been  thus  rudely  separated  from  Katie,  had 
no  object  in  going  any  farther,  and  there 
fore  was  quite  willing  to  remain  in  this 
place.  But  it  soon  appeared  that  he  had 
plenty  to  do.  He  at  once  set  forth  to  com 
municate  with  the  civil  and  military  au 
thorities,  in  the  hope  of  obtaining  assist 
ance  toward  rescuing  Katie  from  her  cap 
tivity  ;  and  such  was  his  zeal  and  energy, 
that  before  long  he  had  received  the  most 
earnest  promises  of  assistance  and  co-oper 
ation  from  all  to  whom  he  applied.  As  for 
the  priest  aforesaid,  he  had  a  different  pur 
pose,  and  that  purpose  did  not  lead  him  to 
make  any  effort  to  procure  lodgings.  He 
refreshed  himself  with  a  repast  at  the  near 
est  hosteria,  after  which,  girding  up  his 
loins,  he  left  the  place  by  the  high-road. 

The  road  at  first  ran  through  the  plain, 
where,  on  every  side,  there  stretched  away 
fields  of  brown  grass,  with  flocks  of  sheep 
and  goats.  The  attendants  upon  these 
were  nowhere  visible,  and  this  lack  of  hu 
man  life  and  action  gave  to  the  country  an 
indescribable  air  of  solitude  and  desertion. 
In  other  respects,  however,  there  was  every 
thing  which  could  gratify  the  eye  and  the 
taste.  The  land  was  fertile,  the  soil  culti 
vated,  the  scenery  beautiful.  Tall  trees — 
the  mulberry  and  the  poplar — arose  in  long 
lines;  here  and  there  the  cactus  stretched 
forth  its  thorny  arms,  and  at  intervals  there 
appeared  the  dark  green  of  extensive  olive- 
groves.  Behind  the  traveller  there  extend 
ed  a  wall  of  purple  hills,  and  before  him 
arose  the  giant  heights  of  the  Pyrenees. 
Among  these  last  the  road  at  length  en 
tered,  and,  winding  along  at  the  base  of 
sloping  hills,  it  ascended  very  gradually. 

The  priest  walked  onward  at  a  long, 
slinging  pace,  which  told  of  the  experi 
enced  pedestrian.  For  three  hours  he  kept 
this  up,  being  too  intent  upon  his  progress, 
and  upon  his  own  thoughts,  to  pay  much 
attention  to  the  scenery,  except  so  far  as 
was  needed  for  purposes  of  precaution. 
Save  for  this,  the  external  form  of  nature 
and  the  many  beauties  around  him  were 
disregarded;  and  at  length,  after  three 
hours,  he  sat  down  to  rest  at  a  rock  by  the 
wayside.  Sitting  here,  he  drew  forth  from 
his  pocket  a  well-used  pipe,  which  he  filled 


and  lighted;  after  which  he  sat  smoking, 
and  surveying,  in  a  contemplative  manner, 
the  scene  before  him. 

It  was,  in  truth,  a  scene  well  worthy  of 
contemplation.  For  many  a  mile  the  eye 
of  the  beholder  could  rove  over  the  course 
of  the  Ebro,  and  take  in  the  prospect  of 
one  of  the  fairest  lands  in  all  the  world. 
He  had  advanced  high  enough  to  overlook 
the  valley,  which  lay  behind  him,  with  lines 
of  hills  in  the  distance,  while  in  front  arose 
the  mountains  dark  in  the  heavy  shade. 
To  the  west  the  country  spread  away  until, 
in  the  far  distance,  it  ended  in  a  realm  of 
glory.  For  here  the  sun  was  sinking  into 
a  wide  basin  formed  by  a  break  in  the  lines 
of  mountains,  filling  it  all  with  fire  and 
splendor;  and  while  the  hollow  between 
the  hills  was  thus  filled  with  flame,  im 
mediately  above  this  there  were  piled  up 
vast  masses  of  heavy  strata  clouds,  of  fan 
tastic  shapes  and  intense  blackness.  Above 
these  the  sky  grew  clearer,  but  was  still 
overlaid  with  thin  streaks  of  cirrus  clouds, 
which  were  tinted  with  every  hue  of  the 
rainbow,  and  spread  over  all  the  western 
heavens  up  to  the  zenith  and  beyond. 

In  that  low  mass  of  strata  clouds  which 
overhung  the  sunset  there  was  now  a  wild 
convulsion.  A  storm  was  raging  there,  too 
far  away  to  be  felt,  but  plainly  visible. 
The  fantastic  shapes  were  flung  together 
in  furious  disorder ;  through  the  confused 
masses  electric  flashes  shot  forth;  some 
times  in  floods  of  glory,  sometimes  in 
straight  lines  of  forked  lightning,  some 
times  in  rounded  lumps  of  suddenly  re 
vealed  fire — the  true  bolts  of  Jove.  Toward 
the  south  the  hills  lay  wrapped  in  haze 
and  gloom,  and  in  one  part  there  was  a 
heavy  shower,  where  the  rain  streamed 
down  in  vertical  lines. 

The  sun  went  down,  leaving  behind  it  a 
redder  splendor  by  which  all  was  glorified; 
the  river  wound  in  molten  gold ;  the  trees 
were  tipped  with  purple  lustre;  the  crests 
of  the  mountains  took  on  aureoles  of  light. 
As  the  sun  still  descended,  the  scene  was 
slowly  transformed ;  the  splendor  lessened ; 
the  clouds  broke  up  into  other  forms;  the 
thick  strata  mass  dissipated  itself;  then 
came  a  golden  haze  over  the  wide  west; 
the  moon  revealed  itself  over  the  head  of 
Scorpio,  with  Antares  beaming  from  a  bright 
place  in  the  sky. 

The  scenes  shifted  rapidly,  and  twilight 
deepened,  until  the  clouds  made  way  for 
the  moon,  and,  breaking  up  into  thin  light 


30 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


masses,  swept  away  over  the  sky;  while 
the  moon,  assuming  its  proper  functions, 
looked  mildly  down,  and  bathed  all  the 
valley  in  a  mellow  lustre. 

After  about  half  an  hours  rest,  the  priest 
arose,  put  his  pipe  in  his  pocket,  and  re 
sumed  his  long  stride.  Up  the  road  he 
went,  without  stopping  again,  as  though 
he  had  resolved  to  cross  the  Pyrenees  in 
that  one  night,  and  be  over  in  France  by 
morning :  of  whom  it  might  be  said,  in  the 
words  of  the  Chinese  poet, 

"That  yonug  man  walkee  110  can  stop." 

Another  hour  brought  him  a  good  four 
miles  farther  on,  and  still  he  kept  up  the 
same  pace.  He  now  reached  a  place  where 
the  road  took  a  somewhat  sudden  turn, 
and  wound  around  a  rocky  projection  on 
the  hill-side.  Here,  as  he  turned,  he  came 
full  upon  a  figure  that  was  walking  in  the 
opposite  direction. 

It  was  the  figure  of  a  woman;  and  in 
that  bright  moonshine  it  was  easy  to  see 
that  she  was  young,  and  graceful,  and  light, 
and  elastic.  Coming  suddenly  upon  the 
priest  as  she  did,  at  the  turn  in  the  road, 
she  was  evidently  quite  terrified.  Her  at 
titude  was  that  of  a  stealthy  fugitive;  and 
as  she  met  him  there  was,  in  her  sudden 
involuntary  gesture,  the  appearance  of  one 
who  has  been  captured  by  a  pursuer.  For 
an  instant  she  recoiled  in  an  agony  of  ter 
ror,  but  then  one  glance  at  the  costume  of 
the  priest  seemed  to  reassure  her;  and  then, 
clasping  her  hands,  she  came  nearer,  and 
said,  in  tremulous  tones : 

"Padre!  padre!  per  I1  amor  de  Dios  soc- 
corre  me!" 

The  priest  looked  at  her  for  a  few  mo 
ments  in  silence.  Then  he  spoke. 

"  fitez  wus  Fran$aise,  mademoiselle?" 

The  woman  shook  her  head. 

" E  ella  Italiana?" 

Again  she  shook  her  head. 

"  Sind  sie  Deutsch  ?" 

Another  shake  of  the  head,  and  then  she 
said : 

"  Yo  soy  Inglesa" 

The  priest  gave  a  long  whistle. 

"English!"  he  cried;  "English!  Then 
in  future  please  be  kind  enough  to  speak 
English,  for  your  Spanish — is — well,  de 
clined,  with  thanks." 

At  these  words  the  woman  started,  and 
then,  with  an  uncontrollable  impulse,  seized 
the  hand  of  the  priest  in  a  convulsive  grasp. 

"Oh !"  she  cried,  "  are  you  really — really 


an  Englishman  ?  Oh,  thank  Heaven !  thank 
Heaven !  Then  you  will  help  me  !" 

"English?"  said  the  priest;  "well,  for 
the  matter  of  that,  I'm  anything  you  please 
just  now,  in  this  infernal  country.  I  cer 
tainly  do  speak  English,  but  at  the  same 
time  I  prefer  calling  myself  what  I  am — 
namely,  an  American." 

This  loquacity  of  the  priest  made  no  im 
pression  upon  the  woman,  who  was  absorb 
ed  now  by  her  one  idea  of  escape,  of  obtain 
ing  help,  of  flight. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  she  continued,  "  can  you  help 
me?  Can  I  go  on  by  this  road?  Do  you 
know  what  I  can  do  ?  Will  you  tell  me  ?" 

"Oh  yes,"  said  the  priest,  "I'll  tell  you. 
I  do  not  know  what  you  can  do.  What 
can  you  do?  You  can  read,  perhaps,  and 
I  suppose  you  can  play  the  piano,  and  cro 
chet;  but  I  know  what  you  cannot  do — 
you  cannot  speak  Spanish." 

These  words  were  spoken  with  the  indif 
ferent  air  of  one  who  is  thinking  of  some 
thing  else. 

"Ah,  sir,"  said  the  woman,  in  a  tone  of 
anguish,  "  don't  mock  at  me  !  I'm  in  dis 
tress  unspeakable.  I've  —  I've  lost  my 
way." 

She  could  scarcely  speak  from  agitation. 
The  priest  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then 
he  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  Lost  your  way  ?"  said  he.  "  Well,  that 
is  queer  too.  Your  way  —  and  what  way 
can  that  be  in  times  like  these,  and  here  in 
this  country,  and,  above  all,  in  this  part 
of  the  country  ?  Are  you  walking  for  a 
wager?  Are  you  going  round  the  world 
in  a  bee-line?  Do  you  carry  a  portable 
canoe?" 

"  I  was  in  the  diligence,"  said  the  wom 
an,  not  choosing  to  notice  such  ill-timed 
levity, "  and  we  were  stopped— by  the  Car- 
lists— and  I  escaped  — and  I'm  trying  to 
find  my  way  to  some  safe  place — but  I  can 
not — I  cannot." 

"  H'm !"  said  the  priest,  "  that  is  a  co 
incidence  too— just  my  own  case  to  a  T. 
I've  been  captured  by  the  Carlists  too,  and 
I've  escaped,  and  I'm  now  making  a  bolt 
for  a  place  of  safety.  Well,  this  does  beat 
my  grandmother,  I  must  say!" 

The  lady  was  too  full  of  her  own  troubles 
to  notice  the  peculiar  expressions  of  the 
priest.  She  merely  continued,  as  before,  to 
beg  for  help. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  said  she,  "  do  you  know  the 
way  here  ?  and  can  you  help  me  ?" 

"Well,"  said  the  priest,  "I  know  some 


"  COMING   SUDDENLY    UPON   THE   PRIEST,  SHE    WAS   EVIDENTLY   QUITE    TERRIFIED." 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


31 


of  it,  I  may  say,  but  that  depends  on  what 
you  mean  by  knowing  it.  But  will  you  al 
low  me  to  ask  you  one  or  two  questions  ? 
In  the  first  place,  where  did  you  come  from 
last?" 

"  Last  ?"  said  the  lady ;  "  the  last  place  I 
came  from  was  Barcelona." 

"  When  ?" 

"  Yesterday." 

"  You  spoke  of  a  diligence.  You  must 
have  come  from  Barcelona  by  train." 

"  Of  course." 

"  Then  that  must  have  been  the  train 
that  stopped  over  there." 

"  Yes ;.  the  train  stopped.  I  understood 
that  it  was  not  going  on  any  farther  for  a 
long  time,  for  that  the  track  was  torn  up. 
A  diligence  was  prepared  for  those  passen 
gers  who  were  anxious  to  go  on  immedi 
ately,  and  I  was  most  eager  to  proceed 
without  delay,  so  as  to  get  to  my  home  as 
soon  as  possible.  So,  early  this  morning, 
we  left,  and  came,  without  any  incident  of 
any  kind  until  we  reached  a  place  about 
five  miles  away.  There  we  were  stopped 
and  robbed.  I  believe  all  the  passengers 
were  detained  and  held  as  prisoners — at 
least  I  myself  was.  I  was  handed  over  to 
the  care  of  a  peasant  woman,  who  took 
me  to  a  cottage.  About  two  hours  ago 
she  came  to  me  and  told  me  that  I  might 
go,  and  urged  me  to  fly  at  once.  I  could 
not  understand  her  very  well,  for  I  know 
very  little  Spanish  indeed,  but  I  could  see 
that  she  was  sorry  for  me,  and  offered  me 
this  chance  of  escape.  It  was  also  quite 
evident  that  she  considered  me  in  great 
danger,  and  was  frightened  about  me.  I 
felt  deeply  grateful,  and  offered  her  a  gold 
locket  which  had  escaped  the  notice  of 
the  robbers,  but  she  refused  it.  So  then  I 
started  off.  I've  come  along  the  road  ever 
since,  and  have  seen  no  one  except  your 
self.  And  now,  sir,"  continued  the  lady, 
looking  at  the  priest  with  intense  earnest 
ness,  "  can  you  help  me  ?  Will  you  ?  Oh, 
for  the  love  of—" 

Here  the  priest  interrupted  her.  The 
lady  had  spoken  in  a  low  voice,  which  had 
a  very  mournful  cadence,  and  besides  this 
there  were  signs  of  deep  emotion  in  the 
tremulous  tones  and  the  agitated  manner. 
Her  flight  had  been  a  long  and  a  hurried 
one;  the  exertion  had  been  severe;  her 
strength  had  been  put  forth  to  the  utmost; 
she  was  on  the  verge  of  utter  exhaustion. 
Everything  in  her  appearance,  voice,  and 
manner  combined  to  inspire  pity  and  syin- 
3 


pathy.  The  good  priest  had  seemed  not 
unmoved  as  she  was  speaking,  and  now  he 
interrupted  her,  raising  his  hand,  and  speak 
ing  in  a  very  gentle  voice. 

"Ah,  now,"  said  he,  "come — none  of 
that !  Do  you  think  me  a  savage,  that  you 
must  pray  to  me  for  mercy  ?  Help  you  1" 
he  repeated,  in  stronger  tones.  "  Ay,  ma- 
dame,  that  will  I,  and  with  the  last  drop 
of  my  heart's-blood  and  to  my  life's  end. 
There,  is  that  strong  enough  ?  Help  you  1" 
— and  he  gave  a  short  laugh  —  "that's 
good,  too  I  Why,  what  else  have  I  been 
thinking  of  ever  since  I  met  you  ?  What 
else  can  you  suppose  that  I  intend  to  do  ? 
Isn't  it  enough  for  me  to  see  your  distress  ? 
But  come — it  isn't  quite  so  safe  as  it  might 
be,  and  enemies  may  be  lurking  near.  We 
must  first  find  a  place  of  retirement,  where 
we  can  decide  on  what  is  best  to  be  done." 

The  tones  of  the  priest's  voice  were  now 
totally  different  from  those  which  he  had 
employed  hitherto.  These  were  harsh,  dry, 
indifferent,  almost  mocking ;  but  now  they 
were  full  of  sincere  feeling  and  unmistak 
able  truth.  Their  effect  upon  the  lady 
was  very  marked  and  strong.  She  clasped 
her  hands,  bowed  her  head,  and  in  her 
weakness  was  unable  to  bear  up  under  this 
new  revulsion  of  feeling ;  so  she  burst  into 
tears  and  stood  there  weeping. 

At  this  the  priest  was  not  a  little  embar 
rassed.  For  a  moment  he  seemed  about  to 
try  to  soothe  her  ;  but  he  checked  this  im 
pulse,  and  looked  away,  whistling  softly  to 
himself.  After  a  few  moments  he  went  on, 
speaking  in  a  gentle  voice  : 

"I've  been  going  along  alone  easily 
enough,  but  now,  if  you  will  come  with  me, 
I  shall  have  to  make  some  changes  in  my 
plans.  You  see,  two  cannot  travel  so  easi 
ly  as  one ;  and  then  you  are  a  lady,  and 
an  English  lady  too,  which  in  these  parts 
means  a  wealthy  foreigner — an  object  of 
plunder.  You,  as  an  English  lady,  run  an 
amount  of  risk  to  which  I,  as  a  Spanish 
priest,  am  not  at  all  exposed.  So  you  see 
we  can  no  longer  remain  in  so  public  a  place 
as  this  high-road.  We  must  seek  some  se 
cure  place,  at  least  for  the  present.  You 
don't  seem  able  to  go  much  farther.  This 
moonlight  night  is  just  the  time  for  flight, 
but  you  need  rest  now,  and  unless  you  get 
that  first  you  won't  be  able  to  escape  at  all. 
And  so— what  do  you  say  to  my  hunting 
up  a  hiding-place  for  the  night  ?" 

As  the  priest  began  to  speak,  the  lady 
had  made  a  violent  effort  to  recover  herself 


32 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


and  had  succeeded  well  enough  to  listen 
attentively,  only  showing  by  an  occasional 
sigh  or  sob  that  her  distress  had  not  yet 
passed  away  altogether.  At  the  priest's 
question  she  paused  thoughtfully  for  a  short 
time,  and  then  said, 

"  My  being  with  you  will  make  a  great 
difference  to  you  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  the  priest. 

"  It  will  perhaps  endanger  your  safety," 
continued  the  lady,  anxiously. 

"  Oh,  that  is  nothing,"  said  the  priest  ; 
"that  is  my  normal  state.  I  am  always  in 
danger." 

"  Still,  I  should  be  sorry  to  add  to  your 
danger,"  she  said,  hesitatingly ;  "  and  if— 
if—" 

"Well,"  said  the  priest,  sharply,  "if 
what  ?" 

"  If  I  am  a  source  of  danger,"  said  the 
lady,  calmly,  "I  should  prefer  going  on 
alone,  just  as  I  was ;  and  I  shall  only  ask 
you  to  tell  me  what  is  the  nearest  town,  and 
to  give  me  generally  the  direction  to  it." 

"  Oh,  you  will,  will  you  ?"  said  the  priest, 
in  the  mocking  tone  which  he  had  previ 
ously  used.  "  Well,  then,  rnadanie,  I  shall 
only  ask  you  to  do  as  I  say,  and  ask  no 
questions.  I  know  the  country — you  don't. 
I  have  registered  a  vow  in  heaven  to  save 
you,  and  save  you  I  will,  even  in  spite  of 
all  your  teeth.  I  swear  it  in  the  name  of 
the  great  Jehovah  and  the  Continental  Con 
gress  !" 

At  these  strange  words  the  lady  was  silent 
for  a  few  moments,  and  then  said,  in  a  trem 
ulous  voice, 

"  I'll  do  anything  that  you  wish  me  to 
do." 

"  Furthermore,  my  hearer,"  continued  the 
priest,  suddenly  assuming  and  immediately 
dropping  the  whine  of  a  rustic  preacher, 
"  mark  this — I  don't  mind  saying  a  few 
words  to  ease  your  scruples :  you  cannot 
make  my  position  any  more  dangerous  than 
it  is  already.  I  carry  my  life  in  my  hand 
all  the  time." 

"  Still,"  said  the  lady,  "  you  can  easily 
take  care  of  yourself;  but  what  a  terrible 
thing  it  would  be  if  you  should  get  into 
trouble  on  my  account !" 

"  Well,  I'll  ask  only  one  question— what 
is  your  calling  in  life  ?" 

"I  have  no  calling.    I'm  a  lady — " 

"  Spinster  ?"  said  the  priest,  in  a  mild 
voice. 

"Yes,"  said  the  lady,  gravely,  and  with 
deep  sadness.  It  seemed  to  the  priest  that 


he  had  unwittingly  touched  upon  a  tender 
point. 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  he,  "  this  is  all  I  wish 
to  get  at.     You  are  not  a  politician,  not  a 
political  agent,  not  a  spy  ?" 
'  Certainly  not." 

'  Nor  a  newspaper  correspondent  ?" 
'No." 

'  Not  even  an  artist  ?" 
'  No  ;  nothing  but  a  simple  English  lady, 
and  only  anxious  to  get  back  home." 

"  Very  well — very  good !"  said  the  priest, 
approvingly.  "And  you  shall  go  home, 
too ;  but  remember  what  I  said,  and  trust 
in  me.  And  now  let  us  see  what  we  had 
better  do.  I've  been  here  before,  all  through 
and  through  this  country,  and  know  it  like 
a  book.  Now  just  over  there,  a  little  to 
the  west,  there  is  an  old  unoccupied  castle, 
which  is  in  very  good  condition,  consider 
ing  that  it's  a  thousand  years  old.  It  is 
just  the  place  for  us.  Unfortunately,  there 
may  be  others  in  it,  for  it  is  held  from  time 
to  time  by  the  one  or  the  other  of  the  fight 
ing  factions ;  yet  even  in  that  case  I  know 
of  an  odd  corner  or  two  where  we  can  elude 
observation  for  the  present ;  for  it  is  a  very 
— a  monstrously  large  castle,  and  I  happen 
to  know  the  ins  and  outs  of  it  pretty  well. 
I  can  assure  you  a  good  night's  rest  there." 

"It  is  not  inhabited, you  say." 

"  No,  not  as  a  general  thing." 

"  I'm  sorry  for  that.  If  it  were,  the  peo 
ple  would  perhaps  give  us  shelter  and  food, 
and  help  us  on  our  wray." 

"  The  people  would  perhaps  give  us  more 
shelter  than  we  might  care  for.  But  come 
— we  ought  to  be  off,  for  you  need  rest,  and 
that  soon." 

The  lady  said  nothing,  but  walked  along 
with  the  priest.  For  about  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  they  followed  the  road,  and  then  turn 
ed  away  to  the  left  over  the  country.  Here 
their  pathway  lay  over  the  flank  of  the 
mountain,  and  traversed  open  fields  which 
were  used  for  pasture.  The  rnoon  shone 
brightly,  illuminating  the  scene,  and  the 
priest  walked  with  the  assured  air  of  one 
who  knew  his  way  thoroughly. 

The  lady,  who  all  along  had  seemed  much 
fatigued,  now  began  to  give  more  evident 
signs  of  distress.  The  priest  made  her  take 
his  arm :  she  did  so,  and  for  a  time  was  re 
lieved.  He  sought  to  cheer  her  with  en 
couraging  words.  She  responded  nobly, 
and  certainly  made  all  the  effort  in  her 
power ;  but  her  strength  had  that  day  been 
too  sorely  tasked,  and  threatened  to  fail  her 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


33 


utterly.  At  last  she  sank  to  the  ground, 
and  sat  there,  while  the  priest  waited  pa 
tiently. 

"Courage!"  said  he.  "Cheer  up!  We 
shall  soon  be  there  now." 

After  a  short  rest  the  lady  recovered  a 
little,  and  made  a  final  effort.  They  walked 
on  as  before,  the  lady  holding  the  priest's 
arm,  and  moving  forward  by  dint  of  des 
perate  exertions.  So  they  went  until  at 
last  there  appeared  immediately  ahead  a 
massive  tower,  which  seemed  to  arise  from 
behind  some  trees. 

"There  it  is,"  said  the  priest.  "One 
more  effort." 

But  the  lady  could  go  no  farther.  She 
sank  down  on  the  ground  once  more,  with 
something  like  a  groan. 

"  I  can  go  no  farther,"  said  she,  in  a  faint 
voice. 

The  priest  made  no  reply,  but  stood  for 
some  time  in  silence  watching  her.  It 
was  evident  that  he  hoped  for  another 
rally  of  her  powers,  but  he  was  disappoint 
ed;  for  the  lady  sat  with  her  head  bow 
ed  down,  trembling,  weeping,  and  all  un 
nerved.  Time  passed,  and  there  was  no 
revival  of  strength. 

"Madame!"  said  the  priest  at  length, in 
a  harsh  and  constrained  voice. 

At  this  the  lady  gave  a  sigh,  and  tried 
to  raise  herself,  but  without  success.  After 
a  useless  effort  she  sank  down  again. 

"Madame,"  said  the  priest,  "to  stay  here 
is  out  of  the  question.  We  have  not  much 
farther  to  go ;  the  place  of  our  destination 
is  not  far  off,  and  I  am  going  to  carry  you 
there." 

"  No,"  said  the  lady, "  you  must  not.  I — 
I—" 

"  Madame,"  interrupted  the  other, "  as  a 
priest  it  is  my  duty  to  succor  the  distress 
ed,  and  even  as  a  man  I  should  feel  bound 
to  save  you." 

"  It's  too  much  for  you,"  said  the  lady, 
faintly.  "  Save  yourself.  It's  no  matter — 
what — becomes  of— of  me." 

"  Oh,  it  isn't,  isn't  it  ?"  said  the  priest,  in 
his  dryest  manner.  "  Well,  you  will  please 
remember  that  you  and  I  are  in  the  same 
boat,  and  we  must  win  or  lose  together. 
And  so,  as  I  don't  intend  to  be  captured 
yet  awhile,  why,  madame,  with  your  permis 
sion,  and  begging  your  pardon,  I'll  take  the 
liberty  of  saving  you  in  my  own  way.  At 
the  same  time,  please  remember  that  it's 
not  for  your  sake  I'm  doing  this  so  much 
as  for  my  own." 


What  possible  meaning  there  might  be 
to  these  last  words  the  priest  did  not  ex 
plain,  nor  did  the  lady  understand.  In 
fact,  there  was  no  time  for  explanation. 
The  priest,  without  any  more  ado,  raised 
the  lady  in  his  arms  and  marched  off  with 
her. 

He  was  not  a  very  large  man,  but  he  was 
very  muscular,  and  in  excellent  training ; 
so  he  trudged  on  at  a  pace  which,  under 
all  the  circumstances,  was  really  wonderful. 
Fortunately  he  did  not  have  very  far  to 
carry  his  burden.  Before  long  he  came  to 
a  grove  of  large  trees,  which  stood  wide 
apart  and  admitted  of  an  easy  passage. 
Traversing  this,  he  at  length  reached  a  low 
tower,  which  was  in  a  half-ruinous  condi 
tion.  It  stood  upon  the  brink  of  a  deep 
chasm,  the  sides  of  which  were  densely 
wooded,  while  at  the  bottom  there  was  a 
brawling  brook.  Upon  the  other  side  of 
the  chasm  appeared  the  outline  of  a  stately 
castle,  with  walls  and  towers  and  battle 
ments  and  keep,  all  plainly  discernible  as 
they  rose  up  in  giant  proportions. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

IN    WHICH    THE    PRIEST    SEES    A    VISION,  AND   GOES 
IN   SEARCH   OF   A   BREAKFAST. 

THE  priest  placed  the  lady  on  the  ground 
near  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree,  against 
which  she  might  lean,  and  then,  turning 
away,  he  drew  a  clasp-knife  from  his  pock 
et,  and  began  cutting  armfuls  of  brushwood 
and  twigs  of  shrubs.  These  he  carried  into 
the  tower  and  spread  over  the  floor  with 
the  skill  of  a  practised  hand,  while  the 
lady  sat  where  he  had  left  her,  with  her 
head  bowed  down,  taking  no  notice  of  any 
thing,  and  seeming  like  one  who  was  quite 
prostrated  in  mind  as  well  as  in  body. 
When  at  last  the  priest's  task  was  ended, 
he  went  to  her  and  carried  her  inside  the 
tower. 

"  Here,"  said  he,  "  is  some  brushwood. 
I'm  sorry  that  there  isn't  anything  better, 
but  better  is  a  stone  couch  with  liberty 
than  a  bed  of  down  with  captivity.  Don't 
be  worried  or  frightened.  If  there  is  any 
danger,  I'll  sound  the  alarm  in  Zion  and 
get  you  off  in  time." 

The  lady  murmured  some  inarticulate 
words,  and  the  priest  then  left  her  and 
went  outside.  He  there  spent  some  little 
time  in  gathering  some  brush  for  himself, 
which  he  spread  upon  the  grass,  under  the 


34 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


castle  wall ;  after  which,  he  seated  himself 
upon  it,  and  pulling  out  his  pipe,  he  filled 
it  and  began  to  smoke. 

Hitherto  he  had  been  too  much  preoccu 
pied  to  pay  any  very  close  attention  to  the 
world  around ;  but  now,  as  he  sat  there,  he 
became  aware  of  sounds  which  arose  ap 
parently  from  the  interior  of  the  great  cas 
tle  on  the  other  side  of  the  chasm.  The 
sounds  did  not  startle  him  in  the  least, 
however,  and  he  was  evidently  prepared  for 
something  of  this  sort.  Between  this  tower 
and  the  great  castle  there  intervened  the 
deep  chasm ;  and  though  no  doubt  the  two 
structures  had  once  been  connected,  yet  all 
connection  had  long  since  been  destroyed, 
and  now  there  was  no  visible  way  of  pass 
ing  from  the  one  to  the  other.  The  priest, 
therefore,  felt  as  secure  as  though  he  were 
miles  away,  and  listened  serenely  to  the 
noises. 

There  came  to  his  ears  sounds  of  singing, 
and  laughter,  and  revelry,  with  shouts  and 
cries  that  rang  out  upon  the  air  of  night. 
There  seemed  to  be  no  small  stir  in  the 
castle,  as  though  a  multitude  had  gathered 
there,  and  had  given  themselves  up  secure 
ly  to  general  merriment.  But  all  this  trou 
bled  not  the  priest  one  whit,  for  he  calmly 
finished  his  pipe,  and  then,  laying  it  down, 
he  disposed  his  limbs  in  a  comfortable  po 
sition,  still  keeping  a  sitting  posture,  and 
in  this  attitude  he  fell  asleep  and  slept  the 
sleep  of  the  just. 

Very  early  on  the  following  morning  our 
good  priest  opened  his  eyes,  and  the  first 
object  that  they  rested  upon  was  the  lady, 
who  stood  there  full  before  him,  and  greet 
ed  him  with  a  gentle  smile. 

The  priest  had  not  seen  her  very  well  on 
the  previous  evening,  and  now  as  he  saw 
her  face  in  full  daylight,  it  seemed  different 
from  that  which  had  met  his  view  under 
the  moonbeams.  The  lady  was  of  slender 
form,  a  trifle  over  the  middle  height,  and 
of  marked  dignity  of  bearing.  Her  face 
was  perfectly  beautiful  in  the  outline  of  its 
features,  but  this  was  as  nothing  when  com 
pared  with  the  refined  and  exquisite  grace, 
the  perfect  breeding,  the  quick  intelligence, 
and  the  womanly  tenderness  that  were  all 
expressed  in  those  noble  lineaments.  It 
was  a  face  full  of  calm  self-possession,  and 
gave  indications  of  a  great  and  gracious  na 
ture,  which  could  be  at  once  loving  and 
brave,  and  tender  and  true.  Her  hair, 
which  was  very  luxuriant,  was  closely  bound 
up  in  dark  auburn  masses ;  her  lips  were 


full  of  sweet  sensitiveness;  and  thus  she 
stood  looking  at  him  with  dark  hazel  eyes 
that  seemed  to  glow  with  feeling  and  intel 
ligence,  till  the  good  priest  thought  that 
never  in  all  his  life  had  he  seen  anything 
half  so  fair.  In  fact,  so  overcome  was  he 
that  he  sat  staring  at  her  for  some  time 
without  one  word,  and  without  giving  any 
response  whatever  to  the  pleasant  words  of 
greeting  which  she  spoke. 

"  I'm  very  sorry  indeed,"  said  she,  as  the 
priest  still  stared  in  silence  at  her,  "  that  I 
was  such  a  trouble  to  you,  after  all  your — 
your  kindness ;  but  the  fact  is,  I  was  so 
wretchedly  fatigued  that  I  was  scarcely  re 
sponsible  for  my  actions.  It  was  too  selfish 
in  me ;  but  now  I  mean  to  make  amends, 
and  help  you  in  every  possible  way.  Would 
you  like  me  to  do  anything  ?  ShaVt  I  get 
breakfast  ?" 

She  spoke  these  words  with  a  smile,  in 
which,  however,  there  was  not  a  little  sad 
ness.  There  was  nothing  in  the  words 
themselves  beyond  that  painful  considera 
tion  for  others  and  forgetfulness  of  self 
which  the  priest  had  observed  in  her  the 
night  before ;  but  the  voice  wras  a  wonder 
ful  one — a  round,  full  contralto,  yet  soft  and 
low,  with  a  certain  mysteriously  tremulous 
undertone  that  fell  with  a  thrill  upon  his 
ear. 

The  priest  started  up. 

"  Breakfast !"  said  he,  with  a  short  laugh. 
"  That  is  the  very  thing  I  was  thinking  of 
myself.  I  consider  that  an  all-important 
subject." 

"  It  is  certainly  a  serious  matter,"  said 
she. 

"  And  you  propose  to  get  it  for  me  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  with  a  faint  smile,  "  if  I 
can." 

"  I  really  wish  you  would,"  continued  the 
priest,  "  for  it  would  save  me  from  a  great 
responsibility ;  for  if  you  don't  get  it  for 
me,  hang  me  if  I  know  where  I  can  get  any 
for  myself." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  said  she.  "  Have 
we  nothing  to  eat  ?" 

"  Well,  not  so  bad  as  that.  I  have  a  bit 
of  a  sandwich,  I  believe,  and  you  may  have 
it." 

With  this  he  produced  from  his  pocket  a 
tin  sandwich  case  and  offered  it  to  her. 

She  refused. 

"  If  that  is  the  last  that  you  have,"  said 
she,  "I  can  wait." 

u  But  you  must  eat  it,  so  as  to  get  back 
your  strength." 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


35 


"And  what  will  you  do  ?" 

"  Oh,  I'm  an  old  hand  at  fasting.  It's 
my  business." 

"  As  priest,  I  suppose  ?"  said  the  lady, 
with  a  smile  that  was  brighter,  or  rather 
less  mournful,  than  any  which  the  priest 
had  thus  far  seen  on  her  melancholy  face. 

"  Yes,  as  priest,"  said  the  other,  dryly. 
"  And  now  will  you  take  it  ?" 

"Do  you  ever  think  about  yourself?" 
asked  the  lady,  in  a  low  voice,  in  which  the 
thrill  was  more  perceptible  than  usual. 

"About  myself?  Oh  yes,"  said  he;  "I 
never  think  of  anything  else.  My  motto  is 
to  take  care  of  Number  One.  It's  only  for 
my  own  sake  that  I'm  anxious  for  you  to 
eat ;  but  if  you  won't  take  it  all,  why,  you'll 
have  to  be  content  wTith  half.  You  won't 
refuse  to  share  with  me  and  take  half  ?" 

"By  no  means.  I  sha'n't  object  to  take 
the  half,  if  you  choose." 

"Well,"  said  he,  "that's  fair;  so  let's  be 
gin  our  breakfast.  Would  you  mind  sitting 
on  that  tree  over  there  ?" 

He  led  the  way  to  the  fallen  tree  already 
mentioned,  and  the  two  seated  themselves. 
He  then  opened  the  tin  case  and  drew  forth 
a  few  sandwiches.  From  these  they  made 
their  frugal  repast. 

"  You  must  cultivate  patience,"  said  the 
priest,  as  he  ate.  "  I  know  exactly  what's 
in  your  mind.  You  want  to  be  off.  But, 
according  to  the  proverb,  the  more  haste 
the  less  speed.  Tell  me — would  you  rather 
be  here  or  in  the  hands  of  the  Carlists  ?" 

"  Here." 

"  Well,  I'm  afraid  if  we  move  incautious 
ly  we  may  be  seen  and  captured  by  the 
Carlists.  So  before  we  start  I  propose  to 
reconnoitre.  Will  you  remain  here  2" 

"  I  will  do  whatever  you  direct." 

"  You  are  very  good  and  sensible." 

"  Thanks ;  but  where  do  you  propose  to 
go." 

"  I'm  going  to  visit  the  castle  over  there." 

"  The  castle  ?" 

"Yes.  It  is  full  of  people.  That  they 
are  Carlists  I  haven't  a  doubt.  I  mean  to 
visit  them,  and  find  out  how  the  land  lies." 

"  But  the  danger  is  too  great,  is  it  not  ? 
May  they  not  detain  you  ?" 

"  I  must  run  the  risk  of  that." 

"  Was  it  your  intention  to  go  among  the 
Carlists  before  you  met  me  ?" 

"  Well,  not  exactly.  I  was  on  my  way, 
and  that  way  might  have  led  among  them." 

"  Are  you  running  this  risk  for  my  sake  ?" 

"  Well,  not  particularly,  although  I  have 


an  eye  to  you  in  this  matter.  My  chief  aim 
is,  just  now,  to  get  something  for  dinner, 
and  after  that  to  find  out  what  is  the  safest 
direction  for  us  to  take." 

The  lady  sat  in  thoughtful  silence  for 
some  time. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  she,  "  that  you  are 
incurring  a  terrible  risk.  You  are  now  out 
of  danger ;  why  put  yourself  into  it  ?  Why 
may  we  not  fly  now,  or  to-night  ?  I  can 
fast  for  any  length  of  time." 

"  The  danger  is,"  said  the  priest,  "  that 
we  may  both  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  very 
men  we  wish  to  avoid." 

"But  that  is  the  very  thing  you  are  go 
ing  to  do." 

"  I —     Oh,  I  can  go  alone  anywhere." 

"Ah,  there  it  is!"  said  the  lady,  bitterly. 
"  It  is  I  who  am  a  drag  on  you.  It  is  I  who 
am  getting  you  into  danger.  Yet  why  not 
leave  me?  Tell  me  where  the  road  is:  I 
will  go  back  alone." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  the  priest,  with  his  usual 
short  laugh,  "  as  for  that,  we  may  talk  of  it 
again.  I'll  tell  you  presently.  It  may  come 
to  that,  but  I  hope  not.  I  am  going  to  that 
castle  all  the  same.  I've  been  there  before, 
and  without  harm :  I  expect  to  come  back. 
But  suppose  I  do  not,  how  long  will  you 
wait  here  for  me  ?" 

"As  long  as  you  say." 

"  Twenty-four  hours  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Very  well.  I  do  not  think  they  will 
detain  me,  but  it  is  best  to  be  prepared. 
And  now,  by  way  of  preliminary,  I  will 
show  you  how  I  can  go  over  there.  Re 
member,  I  have  been  here  before,  and  have 
become  acquainted  with  some  of  the  secrets 
of  this  place.  If  you  should  be  in  danger, 
or  if  I  should  not  come  back,  you  will  be 
able  to  fly  by  the  way  which  I  will  now 
show  you." 

The  priest  arose  and  entered  the  tower, 
followed  by  the  lady.  The  pavement  was 
of  stone :  part  of  it  -was  open,  and  some 
ruinous  steps  led  into  a  cellar.  Here  they 
descended,  and  found  themselves  in  a  place 
which  had  been  excavated  from  the  rock 
which  formed  three  sides  of  the  place.  On 
the  fourth  was  a  wall,  in  which  was  a  wide 
gap  that  looked  out  upon  the  chasm.  It 
seemed  as  though  there  had  once  been  a 
bridge  at  this  point  leading  over  to  the 
castle. 

"  Here,"  said  the  priest,  "  if  you  look  out 
you  cannot  imagine  any  possibility  of  de 
scent,  but  if  you  examine  carefully  you  will 


36 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


perceive  a  narrow  ledge  among  the  shrub 
bery.  Go  out  on  this,  and  follow  it  along, 
and  you  will  find  it  growing  wider  as  it 
goes  down.  It  will  take  you  all  the  way 
to  the  bottom  of  this  chasm,  and  there  you 
will  find  stepping-stones  by  which  to  cross 
the  brook,  and  on  the  opposite  side  a  trail 
like  this,  which  will  lead  you  to  the  top  of 
the  opposite  ridge." 

"  I  don't  think  that  I  should  feel  inclined 
to  try  it,"  said  the  lady;  "but  I  am  glad, 
all  the  same,  that  I  have  a  mode  of  retreat. 
It  makes  one  feel  less  desperate." 

u  Oh,  you  know,  I  hope  to  be  back  again." 

"  But  what  shall  I  do  if  you  do  not  re 
turn  ?"  said  the  lady. 

"That  is  what  troubles  me,"  said  the 
priest.  "  To  think  of  you  making  your  es 
cape  alone — " 

"  That  is  not  what  I  meant,"  said  the 
lady.  "  I  referred  to  my  own  self-reproach. 
If  you  do  not  come  back,  I  shall  feel  as 
though  your  blood  is  required  at  my  hands." 

The  priest  looked  at  her  and  gave  his 
short  laugh. 

"I  shouldn't  advise  you  to  come  after 
me  to  the  castle,"  said  he.  "  Your  chief 
difficulty  will  be  the  commissariat.  If  I 
do  not  come  back  before  twenty-four  hours, 
you  will  then  have  to  fly  for  yourself.  In 
that  case,  do  not  go  back  to  the  road  you 
were  on  before.  Do  not  go  to  the  castle. 
Take  this  path  and  go  down  to  the  bottom 
of  the  chasm,  and  up  the  other  side  to  the 
top  of  the  ridge.  Keep  under  trees  as  much 
as  possible.  Travel  due  south.  Heaven 
help  you  !  God  bless  you  !  Good-bye  !"' 

He  looked  at  the  lady.  Her  eyes,  which 
were  fixed  on  him,  seemed  overflowing  with 
feeling;  but  whether  of  anxiety  for  him  or 
fear  for  herself  did  not  appear. 

"  You  seem  to  me  to  be  going  to  death," 
said  she,  in  a  low  voice,  "and  I  am  the 
cause !" 

"  To  death !"  said  the  priest,  with  his 
usual  laugh.  "Moriturus  te  salutat.  Par 
don  ! — that's  Latin.  At  any  rate,  we  may 
as  well  shake  hands  over  it." 

He  held  out  his  hand.  She  caught  it  in 
both  of  hers. 

"God  protect  you!"  she  murmured,  in  a 
low  voice,  with  quivering  lips.  "  I  shall  be 
in  despair  till  you  come  back.  I  shall  nev 
er  have  the  courage  to  fly.  If  you  do  not 
come  back,  I  shall  die  in  this  tower." 

"  Child,"  said  the  priest,  in  a  sad,  sweet 
voice,  "you  are  too  despondent.  I  will 
come  back — do  not  fear.  Try  and  get  rid 


of  these  gloomy  thoughts.    Ancl  now,  once 
more,  good-bye." 

He  pressed  her  hand  and  departed 
through  the  gap.  He  then  began  his  de 
scent,  while  the  lady  stood  watching  him 
with  anxious  eyes  and  despairing  face  till 
he  had  passed  out  of  sight. 


CHAPTER  X. 

HOW   THE   PRIEST   BEARDS   A   LION   IN   HIS   DEN. 

THE  priest  walked  down  the  path  into 
the  chasm.  It  ran  along  a  ledge,  which  at 
first  was  narrow,  and  quite  concealed  from 
view  by  dense  masses  of  shrubbery,  which 
grew  all  down  the  sloping  sides  of  the 
abyss,  covering  the  rock  writh  a  green  man 
tle,  and  giving  it  an  inviting  aspect  of 
richness  and  verdure.  In  such  a  place  no 
one  could  have  suspected  the  existence  or 
even  the  possibility  of  any  pathway ;  and 
this  one  must  have  been  made  with  no  lit 
tle  labor  and  skill,  in  the  ancient  days, 
when  fighting  bands  had  need  to  pass  and 
repass. 

After  a  few  paces  the  path  became  more 
clearly  defined.  It  was  very  steep,  yet  easy 
enough  in  the  descent,  and  went  clown  in 
a  zigzag  direction  until  it  reached  the  bot 
tom  of  the  chasm.  Here  there  was  a  brook 
whose  babbling  had  been  heard  from  above. 
In  winter  this  was  a  fierce  torrent,  but  now 
it  was  reduced  to  a  slender  and  shallow 
stream.  In  its  bed  lay  great  bowlders  of 
granite,  which  afforded  stepping-stones  to 
those  who  might  wish  to  pass,  and  could 
be  used  at  any  time  except  when  the  water 
was  swollen  by  mountain  floods. 

After  traversing  these  the  priest  came  to 
the  other  side,  and  began  to  ascend  a  path 
of  the  same  kind  as  that  by  which  he  had 
descended.  Here  he  climbed  about  half 
way  up,  and  then  paused.  At  this  point 
there  were  two  paths,  one  of  which  seemed 
to  go  up  to  the  castle,  while  the  other  went 
along  the  side  of  the  chasm.  The  latter 
he  chose,  and  along  this  he  went,  ascend 
ing  very  gradually,  until  at  last  he  reached 
the  top  of  the  ridge  on  which  the  castle 
was  situated. 

He  now  turned  and  directed  his  steps 
straight  toward  the  castle,  which  he  soon 
reached.  At  the  gate  stood  some  armed 
tatterdemalions,  whom  the  priest  recog 
nized  as  having  formed  part  of  the  gang 
that  had  stopped  the  train  the  day  before. 
Of  these  he  took  no  heed,  but  walked  up 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


37 


boldly  and  asked  to  see  their  captain.  One 
of  the  guards  went  with  him,  and  after 
traversing  the  court-yard  they  canie  to  the 
keep.  Here  the  Carlist  chief  was  seen  loll 
ing  on  a  stone  bench  outside,  and  smoking 
a  villanous  cigar.  As  the  priest  approach 
ed,  he  started  to  his  feet  with  no  little  sur 
prise  on  his  face,  together  with  a  dark  and 
menacing  frown,  which  did  not  by  any 
means  augur  well  for  the  bold  adventurer. 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  he  asked,  fiercely. 

The  priest  in  return  eyed  the  Carlist 
from  head  to  foot,  and  then  said,  in  a  sharp, 
authoritative  tone, 

"  Your  name  and  rank  ?" 

At  this  singular  rejoinder  to  his  question 
the  Carlist  chief  looked  somewhat  amazed. 

"  My  name  ?"  said  he,  with  a  sneer. 
"Never  mind  what  it  is.  What  are  you? 
Who  are  you?  What  the  devil  do  you 
mean  by  coming  here  ?" 

"  Give  your  name  and  rank,"  persisted 
the  priest,  in  the  same  tone  as  before,  "  and 
beware  how  you  trifle  with  one  who  may 
be  your  master.  Who  gave  you  authority 
to  occupy  this  post  ?" 

"  Master  ?— authority  ?"  cried  the  Carlist 
chief,  with  an  oath,  which  was  followed  by 
a  laugh.  "Who  is  niy  master?  I  never 
saw  him.  Here,  you  fellows !"  he  cried, 
to  some  of  his  gang  who  stood  near,  "  take 
this  fellow  off— take  him  inside.  Let  me 
see — take  him  to  the  lower  dungeons,  and 
let  him  see  who  is  master  here !" 

At  this  a  score  of  stout  ruffians  came  for 
ward  to  obey  the  order.  But  the  priest  re 
mained  as  cool  as  before.  He  simply  drew 
forth  a  paper,  and  looking  round  upon  the 
ruffians,  he  said,  in  a  quiet  voice, 

"  Keep  back,  you  fellows,  and  take  care 
what  you  do!  I'm  the  Cure  of  Santa 
Cruz." 

At  that  formidable  name  the  whole  band 
stopped  short,  mute  and  awe-struck  ;  for  it 
was  no  common  name  which  he  had  thus 
announced.  It  was  a  name  which  already 
had  been  trumpeted  over  the  world,  and  in 
Spain  had  gained  a  baleful  renown — a  name 
which  belonged  to  one  who  was  known  as 
the  right  arm  of  Don  Carlos,  one  who  was 
known  as  the  beau  ideal  of  the  Spanish 
character,  surpassing  all  others  in  splendid 
audacity  and  merciless  cruelty  ;  lavish  gen 
erosity  and  bitterest  hate ;  magnificent  dar 
ing  and  narrowest  fanaticism.  At  once 
chivalrous  and  cruel,  pious  and  pitiless, 
brave  and  bigoted,  meek  and  merciless,  the 
Curg  of  Santa  Cruz  had  embodied  in  him 


self  all  that  was  brightest  and  darkest  in 
j  the  Spanish  character,  and  his  name  had 
become  a  word  to  conjure  by — a  word  of 
power  like  that  of  Garibaldi  in  Italy,  Scha- 
inyl  in  Circassia,  or  Stonewall  Jackson  in 
America.  And  thus  when  these  ruffians 
heard  that  name  it  worked  upon  them  like 
a  spell,  and  they  stood  still,  awe-struck  and 
rnute.  Even  the  Carlist  chief  was  compel 
led  to  own  its  power,  although,  perhaps,  he 
would  not  have  felt  by  any  means  inclined 
to  submit  to  that  potent  spell  had  he  not 
seen  its  effect  upon  his  followers. 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  he  growled. 

"You  do  believe  it,"  said  the  priest, 
fiercely :  "  you  know  it.  Besides,  I  hold 
here  the  mandate  of  the  King;"  and  he 
brandished  the  paper,  shouting  at  the  same 
time,  "  Viva  el  Hey  !"  at  which  all  the  men 
caught  up  the  same  cry  and  shouted  in 
unison. 

The  priest  smiled  a  good-natured,  ami 
able,  forgiving  smile. 

"  After  all,"  said  he,  in  a  milder  voice, 
"  it  is  well  for  you  to  be  cautious.  I  ap 
prove  of  this  rough  reception  :  it  is  soldier 
like.  It  shows  that  you  are  true  to  the 
King.  But  read  this.  Give  me  something 
to  eat  and  drink,  and  then  I  will  tell  you 
my  errand." 

With  these  words  he  handed  the  paper 
to  the  Carlist  chief,  who  took  it  somewhat 
sulkily,  and  read  as  follows : 

"Head-quarters,  Vera,  August  23cf,  1873. 
"  To  all  officers  of  the  army,  and  to  all 
good  and  loyal  subjects,  greeting :  Receive  and 
respect  our  friend  and  lieutenant  the  Cure  of 
Santa  Cruz,  who  bears  this,  and  is  engaged  in 
a  special  mission  in  our  service.  CARLOS." 

On  reading  this  the  Carlist  chief  drew  a 
long  breath,  looked  around  upon  his  follow 
ers,  elevated  his  eyebrows,  and  finally  turned 
to  the  priest. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?"  he  asked,  in  no 
very  courteous  manner. 

"  Nothing,"  said  the  priest.  "  Not  one 
single  thing  from  you  but — breakfast.  Don't 
be  alarmed.  I  haven't  come  in  here  to  in 
terfere  with  you  at  all.  My  business  is  else 
where.  Do  you  understand  me  ?" 

The  priest  gave  him  a  glance  which  was 
meant  to  convey  more  than  the  words  ex 
pressed.  At  this  the  whole  manner  of  the 
Carlist  chief  underwent  a  change.  He  at 
once  dropped  all  his  sourness  and  gloom. 

"  Do  you  mean  it  ?"  he  asked,  eagerly. 


33 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


The  priest  nodded. 

"  Certainly." 

"  Then,"  cried  the  Carlist,  "  you're  right 
welcome,  and  I  hope  you'll  not  mind  what's 
happened.  We  have  to  be  cautious,  you 
know,  and  suspicious." 

"  My  dear  friend,  I  assure  you  I  shouldn't 
have  troubled  you  at  all,  only  I'm  starving." 

"  Then  I  swear  you  shall  have  the  best 
breakfast  in  all  Spain.  Come  in  ;  come  in. 
Come,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  and  I'll  give 
you  a  breakfast  that  will  last  you  for  a  week. 

With  these  words  the  Carlist  chief  led 
the  way  inside,  and  the  priest  followed. 

It  was  the  lower  story  of  the  central 
building,  or  keep,  and  was  constructed,  in 
the  most  massive  manner,  out  of  vast  blocks 
of  rough-hewn  stone.  The  apartment  was 
about  fifty  feet  in  length,  twenty-five  in 
width,  and  twelve  in  height.  On  either  side 
there  were  openings  into  chambers  or  pas 
sage-ways.  The  roof  was  vaulted,  and  at 
the  farther  end  of  the  apartment  there  was 
a  stairway  constructed  of  the  same  cyclo- 
pean  stones  as  the  rest  of  the  edifice.  All 
the  stone- work  here  visible  had  the  same 
ponderous  character,  and  seemed  formed  to 
last  for  many  centuries  to  come. 

Around  the  sides  of  this  lower  hall  were 
suspended  arms  and  accoutrements.  There 
were  also  rude  massive  benches,  upon  which 
were  flung  rugs  and  blankets.  Here  and 
there  were  little  groups,  not  only  of  men,  but 
also  of  women  and  children.  On  the  left  side 
there  was  an  enormous  chimney,  which  was 
large  enough  for  a  separate  chamber.  In 
this  a  fire  was  burning,  and  a  woman  was 
attending  to  the  cooking  of  a  savory  stew. 
An  aromatic  smell  of  coffee  was  diffusin 
itself  through  the  atmosphere ;  and  this 
was  surrounded  and  intermingled  with  the 
stronger  and  ranker,  though  less  pungent, 
odors  of  the  stew  aforesaid. 

The  priest  flung  himself  carelessly  into  a 
seat  near  a  massive  oaken  table,  and  the 
Carlist  chief  took  a  seat  beside  him.    The 
priest  questioned  the  chief  very  closely  as 
to  his  doings,  and  the   disposition  of  his 
people  through  the  country,  while  the  chief 
surveyed  the  priest  furtively  and  cautiously, 
At  last  he  said,  abruptly, 
"  You  wrere  on  the  train  yesterday." 
"  I  was,"  replied  the  priest,  coolly. 
"Why  did  you  not   tell  me  who  you 
were  ?" 

"  What  a  question  to  ask !"  said  the  priest 
"Don't  you  understand?  When  Jam  ou 
I  don't  want  any  one  to  know  or  suspect 


did  not  choose  to  tell  even  you.  Why 
hould  I  ?  I  didn't  know  you." 

"  But  you  lost  your  purse,"  said  the  chief, 
n  rather  a  humble  voice. 

;  And  was  there  much  in  it  ?"  asked  the 
priest. 

The  chief  laughed. 

Breakfast  now  followed,  and  of  this  the 
jriest  partook  heartily.  Then  he  started 
ip. 

"  I  must  make  haste,"  said  he,  "  and  con- 
inue  my  journey ;  but  as  I  am  going  into 
>ut-of-the-way  places,  I  shall  have  to  ask 
you  for  some  supplies." 

This  request  was  very  cheerfully  granted, 
oaves  and  cold  meats  being  furnished  from 
the  Carlist  larder.  These  the  priest  put  into 

wallet,  and  thus  equipped,  he  was  ready 
['or  the  march. 

" Adios,"  said  he,  "noble  captain,  till  we 
meet  again." 

"Adios,"  said  the  chief. 

The  priest  then  shook  hands  with  his 
3ntertainer  and  turned  away.  Leaving  the 
castle,  he  walked  down  the  slope  for  some 
distance,  until  at  length  he  reached  the 
skirts  of  the  forest.  Turning  round  here, 
he  stood  looking  back  cautiously,  till  he 
felt  convinced  that  he  had  not  been  fol 
lowed,  and  wras  not  observed.  He  now 
plunged  into  the  forest,  and  worked  his 
way  along  until  he  came  to  the  chasm  and 
found  the  path  before  mentioned.  Down 
this  he  went  on  his  way  back  to  the  tower. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

HOW    THE    FIRST    PRIEST    VANISHES,  AND    ANOTHER 
PRIEST   APPEARS   UPON   THE   SCENE. 

As  the  priest  emerged  from  the  brush 
wood  at  the  top  of  the  path,  he  suddenly 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  the  lady. 
She  had  come  through  the  opening,  and 
was  standing  outside  waiting  there,  breath 
less,  her  hands  clasped,  and  her  eyes  set  in 
a  fixed  and  eager  gaze  of  vigilant  outlook 
and  of  terrified  apprehension.  As  she  rec 
ognized  the  priest,  her  whole  expression 
changed ;  her  face  flushed,  her  eyes  grew 
moist  with  tears  of  joy,  her  lips  quivered. 

"  Oh,  thank  God !  thank  God !"  she  cried. 
"  Oh,  how  glad  I  am  !" 

The  priest  stood  and  looked  at  her  in  si 
lence,  although  there  was  certainly  every 
occasion  for  saying  something.  Finally  he 
held  out  his  hand,  and  she  took  it  in  hers, 
which  were  cold  as  ice,  and  tremulous. 


'M  THK  CURE  OK  SANTA  CRUX. 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


39 


"  Poor  child !"  said  the  priest,  "  you  have 
been  too  excited.  But  were  you  not  afraid 
that  it  might  be  some  one  else  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  she;  "so  afraid  that  I  lost 
all  strength  and  could  not  get  back.  I 
thought  I  heard  something  like  that  little 
short  laugh  of  yours  that  you  give,  but 
then  it  seemed  imagination.  So  I  waited, 
and  if  it  had  been  an  enemy  he  would  have 
caught  me.  But  I  was  right,  after  all,"  she 
ended,  joyously.  "  It  was  your  laugh — and 
you." 

Again  the  priest  stood  in  silence  looking 
at  her. 

"  It's  worth  going  over  there,"  said  he  at 
last,  "  to  make  a  fellow-creature  happy  by 
coming  back," 

"  Oh  no,"  she  said, "  not  for  that.  Noth 
ing  can  compensate  for  the  frightful,  the 
terrible  anxiety — nothing.  But  I  will  say 
no  more.  I  am  ready  now  for  any  fatigue 
or  peril.  My  worst  fear  is  over." 

"  Oh,  it's  all  very  well  to  be  glad  to  see 
me,"  said  the  priest,  with  that  short  laugh 
to  which  the  lady  had  referred, "  but  that's 
nothing  to  the  gladness  you'll  feel  when 
you  see  what  I've  brought  back  with  me. 
You  just  wait  and  see — that's  all!" 

"With  these  words  he  ascended  into  the 
tower  through  the  gap,  and  assisted  the 
lady  after  him.  They  then  went  up  the 
broken  stairway,  and  out  into  the  open  air 
to  the  fallen  tree  where  they  had  taken 
their  breakfast.  Upon  this  he  seated  him 
self,  and  the  lady  did  the  same.  He  now 
opened  the  wallet,  and  distributed  to  her 
some  of  his  stock  of  provisions,  pointing 
out  to  her  with  an  air  of  triumph  the  fact 
that  they  had  enough  to  last  them  for  a 
week.  The  lady  said  but  little  and  ate 
but  little ;  the  priest,  for  his  part,  ate  less  ; 
so  the  breakfast  was  soon  despatched ;  af 
ter  which  the  priest  loaded  his  pipe  and 
smoked  the  smoke  of  peace. 

The  priest,  as  he  smoked,  occasional 
ly  threw  a  furtive  glance  at  the  lady, 
who  now  sat  absorbed  in  her  own  medi 
tations. 

"  I  propose  to  ask  you  a  few  questions," 
said  the  priest,  "merely  for  the  sake  of 
conversation,  and  you  needn't  answer  un 
less  you  like.  In  the  first  place,  you 
haven't  been  long  in  Spain,  I  take  it  ?" 

"  No,"  said  the  lady ;  "  only  a  few  days." 

"  And  you  are  on  your  way  back  to  Eng 
land?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Have  you  been  travelling  alone  ?" 


"  At  first  I  had  a  maid,  but  she  got  fright 
ened  and  left  me  at  Bayonne.  Since  then 
I  have  had  to  travel  alone." 

"  You  mustn't  think  me  too  inquisitive," 
said  the  priest.  "  I  merely  wished  to  know 
in  a  general  way,  and  am  by  no  means  try 
ing  to  pry  into  your  affairs." 

He  spoke  in  a  careless  tone.  He  was 
lolling  in  an  easy  attitude,  and  appeared 
to  be  enjoying  his  smoke  very  much.  Af 
ter  saying  these  words  he  began  to  fuss 
with  his  pipe,  which  did  not  draw  well, 
humming  to  himself  at  the  same  time  some 
absurd  verses : 

"My  love  he  was  a  draper's  clerk, 
He  came  to  see  me  after  dark  : 
Around  the  Park  we  used  to  stray 
To  hear  the  lily-white  baudsmeu  play. 

CHOEUS  OF  DBAPEE'S  CLERKS. 
Hark  !  from  the  tombs  a  doleful  sound, 
My  love  lies  buried  underground  !" 

A  faint  smile  came  over  the  lady's  face 
as  she  heard  these  nonsensical  words  from 
one  in  the  garb  of  a  priest.  Still,  she  re 
flected  that  while  it  was  his  voice  that  was 
singing,  his  mind  was  no  doubt  intent  on 
something  else. 

"By-the-bye,"  resumed  the  priest,  "as 
I'm  asking  questions,  I  should  like  to  ask 
one  more.  May  I  ?" 

"  Most  certainly,"  said  the  lady.  "  What 
is  it  ?" 

"  Well,  your  name,  you  know.  It's  awk 
ward  to  be  as  we  are.  Now,  if  I  were  shot, 
and  wanted  you  to  help  me,  I  shouldn't 
know  what  to  call  you." 

The  lady  smiled. 

"  My  name  is  Talbot,"  said  she. 

"Ali^—Mrs.  Talbot,"  said  the  priest; 
"  thanks." 

"  Not  '  Mrs.'  "  said  the  lady,  again  smil 
ing  ;  "  Miss  Talbot.  My  full  name  is  Syd 
ney  Talbot," 

"  Sydney  Talbot,"  repeated  the  priest. 
"  Thanks.  That's  all.  Everything  else  is 
told.  I  may  add,  however,  in  an  incident 
al  way,  that  my  name  is  Brooke." 

"  Father  Brooke  ?"  said  the  lady,  inter 
rogatively,  with  a  furtive  smile  which  was 
perhaps  occasioned  by  the  incongruity  be 
tween  the  priest's  sacred  garb  and  some 
what  eccentric  manner. 

To  this  question  the  reply  was  not  par 
ticularly  appropriate.  The  priest,  or  Brooke, 
as  he  may  now  be  called,  looked  with  a 
smile  of  quiet  drollery  at  Miss  Talbot,  and 
then,  in  a  strange  whining  voice,  began  to 
drone  out  some  verses  of  a  song : 


40 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


"Old  Bluebeard  was  a  warrior  bold, 
He  kept  his  wives  in  a  great  stronghold. 
One— Two— Three— Four— Five— Six— Seven— 
They  all  of  them  died  and  went  to  Heaven. 
Old  B.  fell  into  a  dismal  state, 
And  went  and  married  Number  Eight.  " 

"  Well,"  he  resumed,  in  his  natural  voice, 
"  Father  Brooke  isn't  bad ;  Brother  Brooke, 
however,  would  be  better;  but,  on  the 
whole,  simple  '  Brooke '  is  the  best  of  all." 

"  Well,  now,  Mr.  Brooke,"  asked  the  lady, 
anxiously,  "  what  are  our  prospects  ?  Have 
you  found  out  anything  ?" 

"  Oh  yes ;  I've  had  a  conversation  with 
an  amiable  Carlist  who  was  on  the  point 
of  blowing  my  brains  out,  and  was  only 
prevented  by  the  unparalleled  'cheek'  of 
the  unworthy  being  who  now  addresses 
you." 

"Did  you  really  incur  such  danger?" 
asked  Miss  Talbot,  in  unfeigned  anxiety. 

"  Danger  ?  Oh,  a  trifle ;  but  a  miss  is  as 
good  as  a  mile.  I'm  here  now,  safe  and 
sound,  but  for  two  or  three  seconds  you 
ran  a  great  risk  of  making  your  journey 
alone.  However,  I  made  friends  with  them, 
and  was  entertained  royally.  Now,  as  to 
escape.  I'm  sorry  to  say  that  the  country 
is  swarming  everywhere  with  these  noble 
Carlists;  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as 
law ;  that  there  are  no  magistrates,  no  po 
lice,  no  post-office,  no  telegraph,  no  railway 
trains,  no  newspapers,  and  no  taxes  except 
of  an  irregular  kind." 

"That  is  very  bad,"  said  Miss  Talbot, 
slowly,  and  in  a  low,  anxious  voice. 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Brooke,  "  but  it's  just  as 
I  feared. 

"  '  There  was  an  old  man  with  u  beard,' 

"  you  know, 

"  'Who  said,  "It  is  just  as  I  feared- 
Two  owls  and  a  wren 
And  a  cock  and  a  hen 
Have  all  built  their  nests  in  my  beard."  ' 

"  That's  me.  I  told  you  so.  Still,  there's 
no  need  to  despair.  It's  quite  plain  that 
we  cannot  travel  by  day  without  being  dis 
covered,  so  we  shall  have  to  try  it  by  night. 
This  will  be  all  the  better.  So  you  must 
spend  this  day  in  meditation  and  prayer, 
and  also  in  laying  up  a  stock  of  bodily  and 
mental  strength.  To-night  we  set  forth, 
and  we  must  move  on  all  night  long.  May 
I  ask  if  there  is  any  place  in  particular  to 
which  you  prefer  going  $" 

"  None  whatever.  I  must  leave  myself 
altogether  to  you." 

"  So  I  suppose,"  said  Brooke. 


"  But  is  there  no  danger  in  this  place,  Mr. 
Brooke  ?" 

"  Danger  ?  None  whatever.  I  can't  ex 
plain  to  you  how  completely  this  is  out  of 
the  way  of  every  one,  whether  marauder  or 
honest  man.  You  may  be  perfectly  at  your 
case  on  that  score.  Will  this  place  satisfy 
you  ?" 

"  Perfectly.  But  I  should  like  very  much 
to  tell  you,  Mr.  Brooke,  how  grateful  I  feel 
for  all  this  trouble  and — " 

"  Ah,  now,  Miss  Talbot !"  cried  Brooke, 
averting  his  face,  and  holding  up  both  hands, 
"  don't — don't !  Let's  drop  all  that  sort  of 
thing.  It's  part  of  the  mockery  of  civiliza 
tion.  Words  generally  count  for  nothing. 
Acts  are  all  in  all.  What  I  ask  of  you  is  for 
you  to  gather  up  your  strength  so  as  to  be 
able  to  foot  it  with  me  and  not  break  down. 
But  first  of  all,  I  must  say  I  very  much  wish 
you  had  some  costume  a  little  less  marked 
than  that  of  an  English  lady.  Now,  if  you 
could  pass  as  a  peasant-girl,  or  an  old  wom 
an,  or  a  goatherd's  wife,  or  a  vender  of 
quack  medicines,  or  anything  humble  and 
yet  national,  why — " 

Miss  Talbot  shook  her  head  with  a 
mournful  smile,  and  looked  troubled. 

"I've had  an  idea  all  day," said  Brooke, 
"  which  I  suppose  there's  no  great  harm  in 
mentioning." 

"  What  ?" 

"  What  do  you  say  to  disguising  yourself 
as  a  priest  ?" 

"  A  priest  ?    How  can  I  ?" 

"Well, with  a  dress  like  this  of  mine. 
It's  very  convenient — long,  ample,  hides  ev 
erything — just  the  thing,  in  fact.  You  can 
slip  it  on  over  your  present  dress,  and — 
there  you  are,  transformed  into  a  priest.  I 
hope  you're  not  proud." 

"  I'm  sure  I  should  be  only  too  glad  to 
disguise  myself,  but  where  can  I  get  the 
dress  ?" 

"  Take  this  one." 

"  The  one  that  you  have  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  But  what  will  you  do  ?" 

"  Do  without." 

"  But  that  will  expose  you  to  danger." 

"  No  it  won't.  It  won't  make  the  slight 
est  difference.  I'm  only  wearing  this  for 
the  sake  of  variety.  The  fact  is,  you  see, 
I  found  I  was  growing  too  volatile,  and  so 
I  assumed  a  priest's  dress,  in  the  hope  that 
it  would  give  me  greater  sobriety  and 
weight  of  character.  I've  been  keeping  it 
up  for  three  days,  and  feel  a  little  tired  of 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


41 


it.  So  you  may  have  it — a  free  gift — brevi 
ary  and  all,  especially  the  breviary.  Coine 
— there's  a  fair  offer." 

"  I  really  cannot  make  out,"  said  Miss 
Talbot,  with  a  laugh,  "whether  you  are  in 
jest  or  earnest." 

"  Oh,  then  take  me  in  earnest,"  said 
Brooke,  "  and  accept  the  offer.  You  see, 
it's  your  only  chance  of  escape.  You  know 
old  Billy  Magee — 

"  '  Old  Billy  Magee  wore  a  flaxen  wig, 

And  a  beard  did  his  face  surround, 
For  the  bailie  came  racing  after  he 
With  a  bill  for  fifty  pound.' 

"  So  what  do  you  say  to  gracefully  giving 
way  to  necessity  ?" 

"If  you  really  think  that  you  will  be 
running  no  risk — " 

"  No  more  than  I've  always  been  running 
until  three  days  ago." 

"  Well,  I  shall  be  very  glad  indeed,  and 
only  too  much  obliged." 

"  That's  an  uncommonly  sensible  deci 
sion,"  said  Brooke.  "  You  see,"  said  he,  as 
he  unbuttoned  the  priest's  robe,  "  I've  mere 
ly  been  wearing  this  over  my  usual  dress, 
and  you  can  do  the  same."  As  he  spoke  he 
drew  off  the  robe.  "  You  can  slip  it  on," 
he  continued, "  as  easy  as  wink,  and  you'll 
find  it  quite  large  enough  every  way." 

And  now  Brooke  stood  divested  of  the 
priest's  dress,  revealing  himself  clothed  in  a 
suit  of  brown  tweed — hunting-coat,  knick 
erbockers,  stockings,  laced  boots,  etc.  He 
then  took  from  his  coat  pocket  a  travelling- 
cap  with  a  visor,  which  he  put  upon  his 
head. 

"  You  can  have  the  priest's  hat  too,"  he 
added,  "  and —  But  no,  by  Jove  !  I  wron't — 
no,  I  won't  let  you  have  the  spectacles.  You 
might  wear  them  in  case  of  need,  though, 
for  they're  only  plain  glass.  But  hang  it !  I 
can't — I  can't,  and  you  sha'n't.  Only  fancy 
putting  spectacles  on  the  angel  Gabriel !" 

Meanwhile  Miss  Talbot  had  taken  the 
priest's  robe  and  had  thrown  it  over  her 
own  dress.  The  clerical  frock  was  of  cloth, 
long  enough  to  reach  to  her  feet,  and  but 
toned  all  the  way  from  her  chin  down. 
Around  the  neck  was  a  cape,  which  de 
scended  half-way  to  the  knees.  As  she 
passed  her  arms  through  the  sleeves  she 
remarked  that  it  would  fit  her  admirably; 
and  then  taking  the  hat,  she  retired  inside 
the  tower,  so  as  to  adjust  the  outlines  of  her 
new  costume  in  a  more  satisfactory  manner 
than  was  possible  before  a  spectator.  At 
the  door  of  the  tower  she  turned. 


"  One  thing  will  be  against  rue,"  said  she. 
"What  shall  I  do  about  it?" 

"What  is  that?" 

"Why, my  hair." 

"  Your  hair !"  repeated  Brooke.  "  H'm — 
well,  that  is  a  puzzle  !" 

"It  will  interfere  with  anything  like  a 
real  disguise,  of  course." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  it  would.  In  which  case 
we  can  only  hope  not  to  come  near  enough 
to  the  enemy  to  be  closely  inspected." 

"  Had  I  not  better  cut  it  off?"  said  Miss 
Talbot. 

"  What !"  exclaimed  Brooke,  with  amaze 
ment  in  his  face. 

Miss  Talbot  repeated  her  question. 

"Cut  off  your  hair  —  that  hair!"  said 
Brooke.  "  What  a  horrible  idea !" 

"  Will  you  cut  it  ?" 

"  Never !"  said  Brooke,  fervently. 

"  Shall  I  ?» 

Brooke  drew  a  long  breath  and  looked 
earnestly  at  her. 

"  Oh,  don't  ask  me,"  said  he,  at  length,  in 
a  dejected  tone.  "I'm  floored!  It's  like 
throwing  overboard  a  cargo  of  gold,  and 
silver,  and  precious  stones  to  lighten  the 
ship.  Yea,  more  —  it's  like  the  Kussian 
woman  who  threw  over  her  child  to  the' 
wolves  to  make  possible  the  escape  of  the 
rest  of  the  family.  But  there  are  some  who 
would  prefer  to  be  eaten  by  wolves  rather 
than  sacrifice  the  child." 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Talbot, "  your  compar 
ison  of  the  child  is  a  little  too  much ;  but 
if  it  comes  to  throwing  the  treasure  over 
board  to  save  the  ship,  I  shall  not  hesitate 
a  moment." 

Brooke  made  no  reply,  and  Miss  Talbot 
w^ent  into  the  tower. 

Brooke  then  resumed  his  seat,  and,  look 
ing  thoughtfully  into  vacancy,  sang  in  a 
low  voice  all  to  himself: 

"  Oh,  a  princess  there  was  in  the  north  conntree, 
And  her  hair  reached  down  below  her  knee  ; 
And  lovers  they  gathered  by  thousands  there, 
For  love  of  the  maid  with  the  golden  hair." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

HOW   BROOKE   AXD   TALBOT   TAKE   TO   FLIGHT. 

BROOKE  was  roused  from  his  meditations 
by  a  light  footstep  close  beside  him.  He 
looked  up,  and  saw  Miss  Talbot  standing 
before  him  in  her  new  costume.  As  he 
looked  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  gazed  at  her 
fixedly  without  a  word. 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


The  change  was  wonderful. 

It  was  no  longer  a  young  lady  that  he 
saw  —  it  was  a  young  priest.  The  broad 
hat  came  down  low  upon  the  head,  and  be 
neath  it  there  was  a  face  full  of  sweet  dig 
nity  and  gentle  grace — a  face  serene,  and 
noble,  and  pure.  Such  a  face  Rafiaelle 
loved  to  reproduce  while  portraying  the 
Angel  of  the  Visitation,  where  youth,  and 
radiant  beauty,  and  unsullied  purity,  and 
divinest  grace  all  appear  combined  in  one 
celestial  visage. 

Brooke  looked  for  some  time  with  the 
same  intent  gaze,  and  in  utter  silence. 

"  How  do  you  think  I  look  ?"  asked  Miss 
Talbot. 

"  Look  ?"  repeated  Brooke.  He  hesitated 
as  if  at  a  loss,  and  then  went  on  in  a  way 
that  was  peculiarly  his  own.  "  Look  ?  Oh, 
first-rate — very  well — very  well  indeed.  In 
fact,  I  had  no  idea  that  you  could  transform 
yourself  so  completely.  I  believe  I  was  on 
the  point  of  saying  something  about  a  vi 
sion  of  angels,  but  I'll  be  commonplace. 
All  I  can  say  is,  that  if  I  were  to  meet  such 
a  priest  in  real  life,  I'd  down  on  niy  knees 
at  once,  make  a  confession,  and —  No,  I 
wouldn't;  -I'd  try  to  become  a  priest  my 
self,  so  as  to  be  always  somewhere  near 
him.  And  if  he  were  a  monk,  I'd  join  the 
same  monastery ;  and  if  he  were  a  mission 
ary,  I'd  go  with  him  to  the  uttermost  ends 
of  the  earth ;  if  the  cannibals  ate  him  up, 
I'd  make  them  eat  me  too ;  and,  in  any 
event,  I  should  feel  that  in  such  company 
I  should  be  nearer  heaven  than  anywhere 
else.  For,  you  see,  you've  always  lived  in 
a  serene  atmosphere,  where  you  have  known 
nothing  of  the  evil  of  the  world,  and  so 
your  face  has  on  it  the  stamp  of  Heaven  it 
self,  which  it  first  received,  and  which  has 
never  been  effaced.  So,  you  see,  you're  just 
the  one  to  go  about  as  a  priest.  Oh,  it's  a 
great  advantage  to  be  as  you  are,  and  to 
have  that  angelic  face !  Like  the  old  man 
in  the  song : 

" '  Oh,  he  never  got  drank  and  he  never  swore, 
And  he  never  did  violate  the  lor; 
And  so  we  buried  him  underground, 
And  the  funeral-bell  did  merrily  sound 
Ding!    Dong!    Dell!1" 

Thus  far  Brooke  had  rattled  on  in  a 
strange,  dry  fashion ;  but  suddenly  he  stop 
ped,  and  then  exclaimed, 

"  Good  Heavens !" 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Miss  Tal 
bot,  who  had  seemed  much  amused  at  all 
this  nonsense. 


"  Why,  what  have  you  done  with  your 
hair?" 

Miss  Talbot  raised  her  hat  from  her  head, 
and  looked  at  him.  Again  he  looked  at 
her  in  silence. 

Yes,  it  was  all  gone  !  That  glorious  hair, 
which  awhile  ago  had  been  folded  in  great 
masses  round  her  head,  was  there  no  long 
er.  She  had  cut  it  off!  It  was  short  now, 
like  the  hair  of  a  young  man,  and  hung 
loose  in  wavy  curls  over  her  forehead.  Yet 
so  far  from  her  appearance  being  marred  or 
disfigured  by  such  a  mutilation,  the  result 
was  actually  more  becoming  to  her  as  she 
stood  there  in  her  new  costume.  Few 
could  have  made  such  a  sacrifice  without 
serious  injury  to  their  appearance ;  but  in 
this  case  there  was  merely  a  change  from 
one  character  to  another,  and  all  the  beau 
ty  and  all  the  subtle  fascination  still  re 
mained. 

"I  couldn't  have  believed  it,"  said 
Brooke^  at  length. 

"What?" 

"  Oh,  well — several  things.  In  the  first 
place,  I  couldn't  have  believed  that  any 
living  girl  could  have  made  the  sacrifice. 
In  the  second  place,  I  couldn't  have  be 
lieved  that  the  one  who  had  passed  through 
such  an  ordeal  could  come  forth  more  glo 
rious  than  ever.  But  the  sacrifice  was  too 
much.  However,  it's  done.  Nay  —  never 
shake  your  gory  locks  at  me.  Thou  caus't 
not  say  I  did  it.  But  where  is  it  all  ?" 

"It?  what?" 

"  As  if  you  don't  know !  Why,  the 
treasure  that  you  threw  overboard  —  the 
child  that  you  flung  to  the  wolves,  O  Rus 
sian  mother !" 

"  Oh,  you  mean  the  hair !  Why,  I  left  it 
in  there." 

She  pointed  carelessly  to  the  tower.  At 
this  Brooke  went  over  and  entered  it.  He 
saw  a  mass  of  hair  lying  there  on  the  stone 
floor,  where  she  had  carelessly  thrown  it 
after  cutting  it  off.  This  he  gathered  up 
very  carefully  and  even  tenderly,  picking 
up  even  small  scattered  locks  of  it.  Then 
he  rolled  it  all  up  into  the  smallest  possi 
ble  space,  after  which  he  bound  it  tight  in 
his  handkerchief  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 
He  was,  as  usual,  singing  to  himself  snatch 
es  of  old  songs  which  expressed  nothing  in 
particular : 

"  The  maiden  she  says  to  him,  says  she, 
1  Another  man's  wife  I've  got  to  be ; 
So  go  thy  ways  across  the  sea, 
For  all  is  over  with  you  and  me.'  " 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


43 


Which  words  had  certainly  no  particular 
application  to  present  circumstances. 

When  he  canie  out  again,  Miss  Talbot  was 
seated  on  the  tree  in  a  meditative  mood. 

"  I  was  just  picking  up  the  hair,"  said 
Brooke,  in  an  indifferent  tone.  "If  we 
were  tracked  here  and  pursued  it  might 
tell  tales,  and  it  would  tell  too  much." 

"  Oh,  how  thoughtless  of  me !"  said  she. 
"  But  really  I  did  intend  to  go  back  and 
throw  it  down  into  the  torrent.  You  see, 
I  was  so  anxious  to  know  if  my  disguise 
was  right,  that  I  hurried  out  at  once  to 
show  you." 

"  Oh,  it's  all  the  same.  I've  disposed  of 
it  better  than  you  would  have  clone." 

"I  shall  try  not  to  be  so  thoughtless 
again." 

Brooke  said  nothing,  but  seated  himself 
near  her  on  the  log. 

"I'm  sorry  you  don't  smoke,"  said  he, 
after  a  pause ;  "  but  I  hope  you  don't  ob 
ject  to  my  taking  a  small  whiff  now  and 
then." 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Miss  Talbot.  "  I  like  to 
see  you  smoking." 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Brooke,  after  he 
had  again  filled  and  lighted  his  inevitable 
pipe—"  do  you  know,  I  think  your  charac 
ter  is  almost  perfect." 

"  Why,  because  I  don't  object  to  smok 
ing  ?"  asked  Miss  Talbot,  with  a  smile. 

"  Well,  I  take  that  as  one  of  the  many 
straws  which  show  how  the  wind  blows. 
But  do  you  really  mean  to  tell  me  that  you 
don't  regret  what  you  have  done  ?" 

"  What,  with  my  hair  ?  What  a  ques 
tion!  Regret  it?  Not  at  all.  It  will 
grow  again — in  time.  To  use  your  own 
figure,  when  the  sailor  is  struggling  for  life 
against  the  storm,  he  doesn't  regret  the 
treasure  that  he  has  flung  overboard  so  as 
to  lighten  the  ship.  And  do  you  think  that 
I  am  so  weak  as  to  hesitate  for  a  moment 
when  your  safety  as  well  as  my  own  is  con 
cerned  ?  For,  you  see,  I  have  to  remem 
ber  that  while  I  am  with  you,  you  too  are 
in  danger.  So,  no  hesitation  is  possible. 
How  could  I  have  the  heart  to  ask  you 
to  help  me,  if  I  persisted  in  keeping  up 
any  kind  of  dress  that  might  endanger 
both  of  us  ?" 

Brooke  made  no  reply,  but  sat  puffing 
out  great  clouds  of  smoke.  After  some 
lapse  of  time  he  opened  his  mouth  to 
speak. 

"  I  wish  you  had  heavier  boots,"  said  he. 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Talbot,  "  my  boots  are 


my  weak  point.  But,  you  see,  I  never  an 
ticipated  a  walk  of  twenty  or  thirty  miles. 
However,  my  dress  is  long,  and  perhaps  my 
feet  will  not  be  noticed." 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  the  fear  of  their  being  no 
ticed,  but  the  danger  that  they  may  give 
way  altogether  in  our  rough  walk,  and  leave 
you  barefoot  among  the  rocks." 

"  Well,  if  I  find  them  giving  way,  I  shall 
wrap  rags  around  them  before  they  go  to 
pieces  altogether." 

After  a  further  silence  Brooke  spoke 
again. 

"  There's  one  thing  more,"  said  he,  "  that 
may  be  mentioned.  We  may  make  good 
our  escape  to-night,  as  I  hope,  but  then — 
we  may  not.  To  provide  against  occur 
rences  of  all  sorts,  it's  as  well  to  adopt  cer 
tain  fixed  characters  and  act  them  out. 
You  are  a  priest — remember  that;  never 
forget  it.  You  have  that  breviar}7,  which 
you  will  do  well  to  look  at  from  time  to 
time.  There's  mighty  good  reading  in  that 
breviary,  though  I'm  sorry  to  say  I  never 
could  find  it ;  but  no  doubt  you'll  do  more 
justice  to  it  than  I  did,  especially  if  you  un 
derstand  Latin,  which  I'm  afraid  you  don't. 
But,  you  see,  it  won't  do  for  rne  to  call  you 
'  Miss  Talbot.'  We  might  be  captured  by 
fellows  who  understand  English,  and  they 
would  at  once  take  the  hint.  And  so  sup 
pose  I  drop  the  '  Miss,'  and  call  you  simply 
'  Talbot  ?' " 

"That's  a  very  good  suggestion,"  said 
Miss  Talbot.  "  The  name  will  be  my  own, 
and  familiar,  and  better  than  any  strange 
name  or  title  which  you  might  invent.  Oh 
yes,  by  all  means  drop  the  '  Miss.' " 

"You  will  understand,  of  course,"  said 
Brooke,  anxiously,  "  that  in  this  proposal 
there  is  no  disrespect,  no  attempt  at  undue 
familiarity,  no — " 

"  Surely,  surely,"  said  Miss  Talbot,  ear 
nestly,  "  it's  hardly  necessary  to  say  all  that. 
If  you  adopt  that  tone,  I  shall  have  to  begin 
and  tell  you  how  deeply  grateful  I  am,  how 
much  I  owe  you,  how  I  long  to  do  some 
thing  to— " 

"  Oh !  well.  Come,  now  !  if  you  go  on  in 
that  way,  I  am  shut  up  at  once." 

He  relapsed  into  silence.  After  a  few 
minutes  he  spoke  again. 

"  Talbot,"  said  he,  in  a  strange  tone,  much 
softer  than  his  usual  voice. 

"  Well  ?"  said  Miss  Talbot,  gently. 

"  As  I  have  dropped  the  '  Miss,'  have  you 
any  objections  to  drop  the  '  Mister,'  and 
address  me  by  the  simple  and  uncon- 


44 


A  CASTLE  IN"  SPAIN. 


ventioual  name  of  'Brooke?'  You  see, 
it's  very  important  for  us,  in  our  circum 
stances,  to  cultivate  this  seeming  familiari 
ty,  If  you  were  really  a  young  priest,  and 
I  were  really  your  friend  and  travelling  com 
panion,  we  should  address  one  another  in 
this  simple  fashion." 

"  I  have  no  objection  whatever,"  said 
Miss  Talbot,  "  and  I  do  not  see  why  you 
should  take  such  pains  to  explain.  It  is 
enough  for  you  to  ask.  Whatever  you  say 
I  will  do." 

"  Say  '  Brooke,'  then." 

"  Brooke,"  said  Miss  Talbot,  with  a  little 
shyness. 

"  And  now,  Talbot,  I  intend  to  use  your 
surname  only  in  speaking  to  you,  and  I  hope 
that  you  will  do  the  same  with  me.  This 
is  merely  for  practice." 

"  Certainly,  Brooke." 

The  name  came  a  little  awkwardly  at 
first,  but  after  a  little  further  conversation 
this  difficulty  passed  away,  and  the  two  ad 
dressed  one  another  quite  naturally  in  this 
simple  fashion.  And  now,  as  Brooke  has 
chosen  this  name  for  Miss  Talbot,  I  also  will 
drop  the  "  Miss,"  and  call  her  henceforth 
simply  "  Talbot." 

Brooke  made  Talbot  lie  down  all  the  rest 
of  the  day,  so  as  to  sleep,  if  possible,  and,  at 
any  rate,  to  lay  up  a  good  stock  of  strength 
for  the  formidable  work  of  the  approaching 
night.  With  her  usual  cousiderateness  and 
docility,  Talbot  obeyed ;  and  although  she 
did  not  sleep,  she  certainly  obtained  an 
amount  of  rest  of  which  she  stood  in  great 
need. 

At  length  the  evening  came,  and  the  two 
ate  their  repast,  after  which  Brooke  secreted 
the  remainder  of  the  provisions  in  the  tower 
by  way  of  precaution.  It  was  not  necessa 
ry,  he  said,  to  carry  that  load,  and  if  they 
were  forced  to  return  it  would  be  there  for 
their  use. 

They  started  a  little  after  sunset.  An 
hour's  walk  brought  them  to  the  road,  at 
the  spot  where  they  had  first  met,  after 
which  they  turned  toward  the  place  where 
Brooke  had  left  the  train  on  the  previous 
day.  Their  pace  was  a  moderate  one,  for 
the  whole  night  was  before  them,  and  Brooke 
was  anxious  to  save  Talbot's  strength  as 
much  as  possible. 

For  about  an  hour  more  they  walked 
along,  until  they  came  to  where  the  coun 
try  was  more  open.  The  moon  was  shin 
ing  brightly,  and  thus  far  there  had  been 
no  signs  of  life.  But  at  this  point  there 


came  up  sounds  from  the  road  before  them 
which  were  not  a  little  alarming.  Brooke 
laid  himself  upon  the  ground,  and  listened 
for  some  time. 

"People  are  approaching,"  said  he. 
"  There  is  quite  a  large  crowd.  They  must 
be  Carlists.  It  will  be  dangerous  for  us  to 
go  on  any  farther.  It  will  be  better  to 
hide  here  until  they  pass." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Talbot.  "  I  quite  agree 
with  you.  I  should  hate  to  go  back  again." 

There  was  on  their  right,  not  far  from 
the  road,  an  old  windmill,  which  stood  upon 
a  gently  rising  ground,  and  was  quite  a  con 
spicuous  object.  This  caught  the  eye  of 
Brooke  as  he  looked  all  around. 

"  There,"  said  he,  "  is  the  place  for  us. 
These  fellows  seem  to  be  on  the  inarch. 
They  will  soon  pass  by  this  and  be  gone. 
Let  us  hide  in  the  old  mill." 

Talbot  at  once  assented.  They  then  left 
the  road  and  crossed  the  fields.  In  a  short 
time  they  reached  the  mill.  It  was  desert 
ed,  and  the  machinery  was  out  of  order,  but 
otherwise  it  was  in  good  preservation.  The 
door  was  open,  and  they  entered.  Having 
once  obtained  this  concealment,  they  stood 
in  the  door-way  anxiously  watching.  At 
length  they  saw  a  crowd  of  men  come  up 
along  the  road,  and  these  they  regarded 
with  quick -beatinrr  hearts. 

"  Brooke,"  said  Talbot,  in  a  whisper. 

"  What?" 

"What  shall  we  do  if  they  come  here?" 

"  That's  a  solemn  question,"  said  Brooke. 
"  We  ought  to  have  something  to  fall  back 
on.  Wait." 

He  went  away  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
then  returned.  As  he  carne  back  to  the 
door  Talbot  pressed  his  arm  and  pointed. 
Brooke  looked  out. 

To  his  horror  the  whole  band  had  stop 
ped,  and  some  of  them  were  facing  toward 
the  mill  as  though  about  to  approach  it. 

"What  a  mistake  we've  made!"  said 
Brooke. 

"  They're  coining  here !"  said  Talbot,  in 
a  thrilling  whisper.  "What  can  we  do? 
Can  we  fly  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Brooke ;  "  they'll  see  us.  We 
have  only  one  hope.  There's  a  ladder  here, 
and  we  can  climb  up  into  the  loft.  Come." 

Taking  Talbot's  hand,  Brooke  led  her  to 
the  ladder,  and  they  climbed  up  into  the 
loft,  where  they  sat  listening. 

Talbot's  anticipation  was  too  true.  The 
band  approached  the  mill,  and  soon  the  two 
fugitives  heard  them  all  around. 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


45 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


HOW  BROOKE  AND  TALBOT  MAKE  SEVERAL  NEW  AC 
QUAINTANCES. 

FOR  some  time  the  two  fugitives  remain 
ed  motionless  and  listened.  There  seemed 
to  be  a  large  number  of  men  below,  of  whom 
a  few  were  inside  the  mill,  but  the  greater 
part  remained  outside.  These  kept  np  an 
incessant  jabber;  but  it  was  of  a  discord 
ant  character,  some  talking  about  getting 
ready  a  supper,  some  about  making  a  fire, 
some  about  forage,  while  at  times  a  word 
would  be  dropped  which  seemed  to  indi 
cate  that  they  were  in  pursuit  of  fugitives. 
Nothing  more  definite  than  this  could  be 
learned. 

Brooke,  however,  had  been  gradually 
creeping  to  one  side  of  the  mill,  where 
there  was  a  window,  while  Talbot  followed 
as  noiselessly  as  possible,  until  they  both 
were  able  from  their  concealment  to  look 
out  upon  the  scene  below,  which  was  in  no 
way  calculated  to  reassure  them.  They  saw 
a  crowd  of  men,  about  a  hundred  in  num 
ber,  who  looked  very  much  to  Brooke  like 
the  train-stoppers  of  the  day  before.  Their 
arms  were  piled,  and  they  themselves  were 
dispersed  about,  engaged  in  various  occu 
pations  ;  some  eating,  some  drinking,  some 
smoking,  while  from  them  all  a  confused 
hubbub  arose. 

Haifa  dozen  ill-looking  fellows  came  to 
ward  the  door  of  the  mill. 

"A  fire!"  said  one.  "Let's  burn  down 
the  old  mill.  There's  wood  enough  in  it." 

"  Ay,"  said  another,  "  wood  enough  for  a 
hundred  fires." 

A  shout  of  applause  greeted  this  propo 
sal,  but  the  hearers  above  felt  their  hearts 
quail  with  horror.  Talbot  laid  her  hand 
on  Brooke's  arm.  Brooke,  to  reassure  her, 
took  her  hand  in  his  and  pressed  it  gently, 
and  felt  it  cold  and  tremulous.  He  drew 
her  nearer  to  him,  and  whispered  softly  in 
her  ear, 

"  Don't  be  alarmed.  At  the  worst,  we 
can  give  ourselves  up.  Trust  to  me." 

Talbot  drew  a  long  breath,  and  made  a 
desperate  effort  to  master  her  fears ;  but 
the  scene  below  grew  more  and  more  terri 
ble.  The  wild  shout  of  approbation  which 
followed  the  proposal  to  burn  the  mill  was 
caught  up  by  one  after  another,  till  at  last 
the  whole  band  was  filled  with  that  one 
idea.  A  dozen  men  rushed  inside,  and  be 
gan  to  hammer,  and  tear,  and  pull  at  the 
flooring  and  other  parts  of  the  wood-work, 


while  others  busied  themselves  with  prepar 
ing  splints  with  which  to  kindle  the  fire. 

"  Brooke,"  whispered  Talbot,  in  a  tremu 
lous  voice — "  oh,  Brooke,  let  us  go  down." 

"  Wait — not  yet,"  said  Brooke,  on  whose 
brow  cold  drops  of  perspiration  were  al 
ready  standing.  "  Wait.  Let  us  see  what 
they  will  do." 

Talbot  drew  back  with  a  shudder. 

"The  mill  is  of  stone,"  said  Brooke. 
"  They  can't  burn  it." 

"  But  all  the  inside  is  of  wood,"  said  Tal 
bot — "  the  floors,  the  doors,  the  machinery, 
the  beams." 

Brooke  was  silent,  and  watched  the  prep 
arations  outside.  These  grew  more  and 
more  menacing.  A  great  pile  of  wood 
was  soon  collected,  which  grew  rapidly 
to  more  formidable  proportions.  If  these 
prisoners  hoped  for  life,  they  must  leave 
their  present  hiding-place,  and  soon,  too; 
for  soon  —  ah,  too  soon,  if  that  pile  were 
once  kindled — the  flames  would  pour  in, 
and  burn  all  the  inner  wood-work,  even  if 
the  walls  were  of  stone. 

At  this  moment  a  man  came  hurrying 
forward  and  burst  in  among  the  crowd. 

"What's  the  meaning  of  all  this  non 
sense  ?"  he  asked,  in  a  stern  voice. 

"  Why,  we're  burning  the  mill,"  said  one 
of  the  most  active  of  the  party. 

"  Fools !"  cried  the  other, "  are  you  mad  ? 
It  will  attract  attention.  We  shall  be  seen 
— perhaps  attacked." 

"  Pooh !"  said  the  man,  impudently, 
"  what  of  that  ?  That's  all  the  better." 

The  other  laid  his  hand  upon  his  sword, 
and  looked  as  though  he  was  about  to  use 
it ;  but  a  wild  outcry  burst  forth  from  all 
the  crowd,  and  with  an  impatient  gesture 
he  turned  away.  By  his  dress,  which  was 
the  only  uniform  visible,  and  also  by  his 
bearing,  he  seemed  to  be  the  captain  of 
the  band,  yet  his  authority  did  not  seem 
to  receive  any  very  strong  recognition. 
Still,  the  sight  of  this  uniform  was  of  itself 
encouraging  to  Brooke,  who  now  at  once 
decided  upon  the  course  which  he  should 
adopt.  There  was  no  longer  time  to  hesi 
tate.  Already  the  match  was  struck,  the 
next  moment  the  flame  would  be  touched 
to  the  kindling,  and  the  fires  would  blaze  up. 

So  Brooke  called  in  a  loud  voice, 

"  Stop !  stop !  till  we  come  down !" 

At  this  cry  they  all  looked  up  in  amaze 
ment.  The  match  dropped  from  the  hand 
of  the  man  who  held  it,  and  several  of  the 
men  sprang  to  their  arms. 


46 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


"Who  goes  there?"  cried  the  one  who 
seemed  to  be  the  captain. 

"  Friends,"  said  Brooke ;  "  we'll  come 
down." 

Then  turning  to  Talbot,  he  whispered : 

"  Now,  Talbot,  is  the  time  to  show  the 
stuff  you're  made  of.  Courage,  my  boy ! 
courage  !  Remember,  Talbot,  you're  not 
a  girl  now — not  a  weak  girl,  but  you're  a 
boy — and  an  English  boy!  Remember 
that,  my  lad,  for  now  your  life  and  mine 
too  depend  upon  you  !" 

"  Don't  fear  for  me,"  said  Talbot,  firmly. 

"  Good !"  said  Brooke.  "  Now  follow  me, 
and  be  as  cool  as  a  clock,  even  if  you  feel 
the  muzzle  of  a  pistol  against  your  fore 
head." 

With  these  cheerful  words  Brooke  de 
scended  and  Talbot  followed.  The  ladder 
had  not  been  removed,  for  the  simple  rea 
son  that  it  consisted  of  slats  nailed  against 
two  of  the  principal  beams,  too  solid  even 
for  Samson  himself  to  shake.  On  reaching 
the  lower  story  they  hurried  out  at  once, 
and  the  gang  stood  collected  together 
awaiting  them — a  grim  and  grisly  throng. 
Among  them,  the  man  whom  Brooke  had 
taken  for  their  captain  was  now  their 
spokesman. 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  he  asked,  rudely,  after 
a  hasty  glance  at  each. 

Brooke  could  not  now  adopt  the  tone 
which  had  been  so  effective  in  the  morn 
ing,  for  his  gown  was  off,  and  he  could  no 
longer  be  the  Cure"  of  Santa  Cruz.  He 
kept  his  coolness,  however,  and  answered 
in  an  off-hand  manner. 

"  Oh,  it's  all  right ;  we're  friends.  I'll 
show  you  our  papers." 

"All  right  ?"  said  the  other,  with  a  laugh. 
"  That's  good  too !" 

At  this  all  the  crowd  around  laughed 
jeeringly. 

"I  belong  to  the  good  cause,"  said 
Brooke.  "I'm  a  loyal  subject  of  His  Maj 
esty.  Viva  el  Key!" 

He  expected  some  response  to  this  loyal 
sentiment,  but  the  actual  result  was  simply 
appalling.  The  captain  looked  at  him,  and 
then  at  Talbot,  with  a  cruel  stare. 

"  Ah !"  said  he.  "I  thought  so.  Boys," 
he  continued,  turning  to  his  men,  •*  we're 
in  luck.  We'll  get  something  out  of  these 
devils.  They're  part  of  the  band.  They 
can  put  us  on  the  track." 

This  remark  was  greeted  with  a  shout  of 
applause. 

"  Allow  me  to  inform  you,  seiior,"  said 


the  captain  to  the  unfortunate  Brooke, 
"that  you  have  made  a  slight  mistake. 
You  are  not  our  friends,  but  our  enemies. 
We  are  not  Carlists,  but  Republicans.  I 
am  Captain  Lopez,  of  the  Fourteenth  Reg 
iment,  and  have  been  detailed  with  these 
brave  fellows  on  a  special  mission.  You 
are  able  to  give  us  useful  information  ;  but 
if  you  refuse  to  give  it  you  shall  both  be 
shot." 

In  spite  of  the  terrible  mistake  which  he 
had  made.  Brooke  kept  his  coolness  and 
his  presence  of  mind  admirably. 

"  I'm  very  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  he  to 
Lopez.  "  The  fact  is,  I  thought  you  were 
Carlists,  and  so  I  said  that  I  was  one  too — 
as  any  one  would  do.  But  I'm  not  a  Car- 
list  ;  I'm  a  Republican." 

Lopez,  at  this,  gave  utterance  to  a  deri 
sive  laugh. 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  said,  "  of  course,  you  are 
anything  we  please.  And  if  we  should 
turn  out,  after  all,  to  be  Carlists,  you  would 
swear  that  you  are  a  Carlist  again.  Doesn't 
it  strike  you,  senor,  that  you  are  trifling 
with  us?" 

"  I  assure  you,  Captain  Lopez,"  said 
Brooke,  "  that  I'm  not  a  Carlist,  for  I'm  not 
a  Spaniard." 

"  You  may  not  be  a  Spaniard,  yet  still  be 
a  devoted  Carlist." 

"Yes,  but  I'm  not.  I  assure  you  that 
I'm  a  Republican.  Shall  I  prove  it  to  you 
and  to  all  these  gentlemen  ?" 

"  Try  it,"  sneered  Lopez. 

"  I'm  an  American,"  said  Brooke. 

"An  American,"  repeated  Lopez,  bitter 
ly.  "Better  for  you  to  be  a  Carlist  than 
that.  Is  it  not  enough  for  you  Americans 
to  intermeddle  with  our  affairs  in  Cuba, 
and  help  our  rebels  there,  but  must  you  also 
come  to  help  our  rebels  here  ?  But  come — 
what  is  your  business  here  ?  Let's  see  what 
new  pretence  you  have  to  offer." 

"  I  am  a  traveller." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  sneered  Lopez. 
"  And  who  is  this  other  ?" 

"  He  is  a  young  priest." 

"  A  young  priest  ?  Ah  !  Then,  senor, 
let  me  inform  you  that  as  Spaniards  we 
hate  all  Americans,  and  as  Republicans  we 
hate  all  priests.  Spain  has  had  too  much 
of  both.  Americans  are  her  worst  enemies 
outside  and  priests  inside.  Down  with  all 
Americans  and  priests !" 

The  echo  to  this  sentiment  came  in  a 
shout  from  all  the  followers  of  Lopez, 

"  Down  with  all  Americans  and  priests!" 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


47 


With  this  cry  a  hundred  fierce  faces  sur 
rounded  them,  and  glared  at  them  with 
fiery  eyes.  It  seemed  as  though  their  last 
hour  had  come.  The  crowd  pressed  closer, 
and  clamored  for  their  immediate  destruc 
tion.  The  only  thing  that  held  them  back 
was  the  attitude  of  Brooke,  who  stood  per 
fectly  cool  and  tranquil,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
on  Lopez,  a  good-natured  smile  on  his  face, 
and  his  hands  carelessly  in  his  pockets. 
Close  beside  him  stood  Talbot,  pale,  it  is 
true,  but  with  a  calm  exterior  that  showed 
not  one  trace  of  fear.  Brooke  did  not  see 
her,  and  did  not  venture  to  look  at  her, 
but  he  felt  that  she  was  as  firm  as  a  rock. 
Had  they  faltered  in  the  slightest  degree, 
the  storm  must  have  burst;  but  as  it  was, the 
calmness  of  these  two  disarmed  the  fury  of 
the  mob,  and  their  fierce  passion  died  away. 

"  Captain  Lopez,"  said  Brooke,  in  a  quiet 
and  friendly  tone,  "  you  may  have  reason  to 
hate  my  country,  but  I  assure  you  that  you 
have  absolutely  no  cause  for  complaint 
against  me  and  my  friend.  We  are  simple 
travellers  who  have  been  interrupted  on 
our  journey,  and  are  now  trying  to  get  to 
the  nearest  railway  station  so  as  to  resume 
it  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  How  did  you  get  here  ?"  asked  Lopez, 
after  a  pause,  in  which  he  again  scrutinized 
severely  the  two  prisoners. 

Brooke  had  anticipated  this  question, 
and  had  made  up  his  mind  as  to  his  an 
swer.  It  was  his  intention  to  identify  him 
self  with  Talbot,  and  speak  as  though  he 
had  all  along  been  travelling  with  "  the 
young  priest." 

"  Our  train  stopped,"  said  he,  "  and  we 
took  the  diligence  over  this  road  yesterday. 
We  were  stopped  again,  captured  and  rob 
bed  by  Carlists,  and  we  have  escaped  from 
them,  and  are  now  trying  to  get  back." 

"  Was  your  train  stopped  by  Carlists  ?" 

"No;  the  diligence." 

"  Where  did  the  Carlists  go  ?" 

"  I  have  no  idea." 

"  Where  did  you  come  from  last  ?" 

"  Barcelona." 

"  Where  are  you  going  now  ?" 

"  To  England,"  said  Brooke  ;  "  and  final 
ly,"  he  added,  "  allow  me  to  show  you  this, 
which  I  am  sure  will  establish  my  charac 
ter  in  your  eyes." 

With  these  words  he  drew  forth  a  paper 
and  handed  it  to  Lopez.  The  latter  took 
it,  and  one  of  the  men  lighted  a  bit  of  wood 
which  served  as  a  torch,  after  which  Lopez 
read  the  following : 


"  Head-quarters,  Vitloria,  May  10th,  ISIS. 

"This  is  to  certify  that  the  learei*  of  this 
is  an  American  citizen  named  Raleigh  Brooke, 
and  is  correspondent  of  a  New  York  journal. 
He  has  permission  to  traverse  our  lines  in  pur 
suit  of  his  business.  CONCHA." 

Lopez  read  it  over  a  second  time. 

"  A  newspaper  correspondent !"  said  he. 
"  H'III  !  That  means  a  spy.  He  handed  it 
back  again  to  Brooke,  who  replaced  it  in 
his  pocket.  "  I'll  think  it  over,"  continued 
Lopez.  "  I'll  examine  you  both  to-morrow 
and  inspect  your  papers.  I'm  too  tired  now. 
You  may  both  go  inside  again  where  you 
were  hiding  before.  We  won't  burn  you 
up." 

At  these  last  words  the  whole  gang  burst 
into  a  jeering  laugh  that  foreboded  some 
thing  so  horrible  that  the  stout  heart  of 
Brooke  quailed  within  him,  as,  followed  by 
Talbot,  he  once  more  entered  the  old  mill. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

HOW    THE    ANXIOUS   RUSSELL    SEEKS    TO   CONCEAL   A 
TREASURE. 

THE  Russell  party,  on  reaching  the  cas 
tle,  were  all  conducted  inside,  where  they 
found  themselves  in  an  arched  hall  which 
has  already  been  described.  Traversing 
this,  they  ascended  the  massive  stairway  at 
the  end,  and  came  to  another  large  hall  im 
mediately  above  the  lower  one.  This  had 
once  been  the  grand  banqueting  hall  of 
the  castle,  and  was  less  rough  and  severe  in 
its  appearance  than  other  parts ;  for  while 
the  walls  elsewhere  showed  the  unfinished 
faces  of  the  rude  blocks  of  stone,  here  there 
was  an  effort  after  something  like  ornament; 
yet  this  was  so  slight  that  even  here  the 
general  air  was  still  one  of  severe  and  au 
stere  grandeur,  as  if  there  had  been  wrought 
out  in  this  stone- work  the  mind  of  the  stern 
Goth  who  reared  it,  who  held  it,  not  for  a 
home,  but  rather  for  a  fortress,  whence  he 
could  dominate  the  surrounding  country. 

If  Harry  had  cherished  any  hope  of  pro 
longing  his  acquaintance  with  Katie  he  was 
now  destined  to  be  disappointed  ;  for  on 
reaching  this  upper  hall  they  were  informed 
that  they  would  have  to  be  separated — the 
men  to  go  in  one  direction  and  the  women 
in  another.  This  arrangement  was  partly 
for  the  comfort  of  both  parties,  but  still 
more  for  their  safe-keeping,  since  escape 


43 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


would  thus  be  far  more  difficult.  Accord 
ingly  the  ladies  were  taken  away  by  some 
female  attendants ;  while  Russell,  in  com 
pany  with  Harry,  was  taken  to  their  quar 
ters  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  great  hall. 

Here  they  found  themselves  in  an  apart 
ment  which  was  very  long,  very  wide,  and 
very  lofty.  The  roof  was  arched,  and  all 
the  stones  were  of  cyclopean  dimensions. 
At  one  end  there  was  an  immense  fireplace. 
On  either  side  there  were  narrow  windows, 
which  on  one  side  looked  down  on  the  front 
yard  inside  the  wall,  while  on  the  other  they 
commanded  a  view  of  one  of  the  inner  court 
yards.  Harry,  on  his  first  entrance  into  the 
room,  walked  about  surveying  the  place, 
and  noting  these  particulars  by  the  lurid 
glow  of  the  torches. 

This  first  survey  assured  him  that,  as  far 
as  appearances  went,  there  was  scarcely  any 
possibility  of  escape.  The  walls  were  too 
strong  to  be  penetrated  in  any  way,  and  the 
windows  were  too  narrow  for  any  one  to 
pass  through.  In  fact,  they  were  slits  rath 
er  than  windows.  Moreover,  even  if  it  had 
been  possible  for  any  one  to  pass  through 
the  windows,  the  ground  below  was  too  far 
away  to  be  reached  without  some  means  of 
descent.  Finally,  there  were  the  armed  men 
outside,  and  the  extreme  wall,  which  was 
too  lofty  to  be  scaled.  On  the  whole,  the 
prospect  was  highly  unsatisfactory,  and 
Harry  turned  away  from  this  first  survey 
with  a  feeling  of  mild  dejection.  There 
was  scarcely  anything  in  the  room  which 
deserved  the  name  of  furniture.  In  one 
corner  there  was  a  rude  structure  with  straw 
on  it,  which  was  intended  for  a  bed.  Op 
posite  this  there  was  a  ponderous  oaken 
bench,  and  upon  this  old  Russell  seated  him 
self  wearily.  Here  he  sat,  and  as  Harry 
completed  his  survey  of  the  apartment,  his 
eyes  rested  upon  his  unfortunate  companion 
as  he  sat  there,  the  picture  of  terror,  despond 
ency,  and  misery.  Harry  felt  an  involuntary 
pity  for  the  man ;  and  as  his  own  flow  of 
spirits  was  unfailing,  he  set  himself  to  work 
to  try  and  cheer  him. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  this  is  rather  a  dismal 
place,  Russell ;  but,  after  all,  it's  better  than 
being  put  in  a  vault  underground." 

"  It's  pup  -  precious  kik  -  kik  -  cold,"  said 
Russell,  his  teeth  chattering,  partly  from 
cold  and  partly  from  terror.  "  This  '11  bring 
on  an  attack  of  rheumatiz — that's  what  it's 
going  to  do.  Oh,  I  know  it !" 

"Well,  it  is  a  little  chilly,  that's  a  fact," 
said  Harry,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  "It's 


a  pity  we  couldn't  use  that  fireplace.  But 
what  a  tremendous  fireplace  it  is !  Why, 
it's  as  big  as  a  barn.  What  do  you  say  to 
our  amusing  ourselves  by  starting  a  fire? 
It  would  be  great  fun." 

"But  we've  gig-gig-got  no  fuel,"  said 
Russell,  with  a  shiver. 

"Fuel?  Why,  let's  cut  up  that  big 
bench." 

"  What  with  ?" 

"  Why,  with  my  pocket-knife,  of  course. 
We  could  whittle  enough  chips  off  it  to 
make  a  good  big  fire,  and  still  have  enough 
left  for  a  bench.  In  fact,  we  could  get 
enough  fuel  off  that  for  a  dozen  fires. 
Why,  man,  there  must  be  at  least  a  cord  of 
wood  in  that  bench.  Whittliug's  rather 
slow  work,  it's  true,  but  in  a  place  like 
this  it'll  be  an  occupation,  and  that's  some 
thing.  Prisoners  go  mad  unless  they  have 
something  to  do ;  and  so.  just  to  save  mv- 
self  from  madness,  I  mean  to  go  in  for  fuel 
— unless  you  can  think  of  something  else 
that's  better." 

Rattling  out  this  in  his  usual  lively  fash 
ion,  Harry  went  to  the  bench,  and  began  a 
solemn  examination  of  it,  with  a  view  to 
ward  whittling  it  up  into  firewood.  Rus 
sell  did  not  move,  but  regarded  Harry  with 
the  same  silent  miser}7  in  his  face.  At  last 
he  spoke : 

"What  did -did -do  you  think  they're 
a-going  to  did-did-do  ?" 

"  Who  ?"  asked  Harry. 

"  Why,  these  people— that  kik-kik-cap- 
tured  us." 

"  These  Carlists  ?  Well,  I  don't  know- 
seems  to  me  they  want  to  make  some 
money  out  of  us." 

"Why  did  they  let  all  the  Spaniards  go 
and  kik-kik-capture  us  ?" 

Oh,  well,  they  think  as  we're  English 
we'll  probably  have  more  money  about  us 
than  their  own  countrymen,  and  be  safer 
plunder  also." 

"  Did-did-do  you  think  they'll  go  so  fat- 
as  to  pip-pup-plunder  us  ?"  asked  Russell, 
in  a  voice  of  horror. 

"  Haven't  a  doubt  of  it." 

"  Oh  Lord  !"  groaned  the  other. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

Russell  gave  a  fresh  groan. 

"This  kik  kik-cursed  kik-kik-country !" 
he  at  length  ejaculated. 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Harry,  "  it  isn't  the  coun 
try,  it's  the  people." 

"Do  you  think  they're  really  Kik-kik- 
Carlists  ?" 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


49 


"  "Well,  yes.  I  don't  see  any  reason  why 
they  shouldn't  be." 

"  I  was  thinking  that  they  might  be  bub- 
bub-bandits." 

"  Well,  there  isn't  any  very  great  differ 
ence  between  the  two,  so  far  as  we  are  con 
cerned." 

"  But  isn't  there  any  law  among  the  Kik- 
kik-Carlists  ?  Can't  we  appeal  to  Did-did- 
Don  Carlos?" 

"  Oh  yes,  of  course — if  we  could  only  get 
at  him,  and  if  he  could  only  get  at  us  ;  but 
these  two  things  are  just  what  can't  be 
done.  And  so  I'm  afraid  we'll  have  to 
make  up  our  minds  to  pay  the  piper." 

At  this  Russell  again  gave  a  heavy  groan. 

"Don't  be  alarmed,"  said  Harry,  in  a 
soothing  tone.  "  We  can  beat  them  down." 

"No,"  moaned  Russell,  "we  can't  do 
anything.  And  I've  got  too  much  about 
me  altogether." 

"You  haven't  carried  any  large  sum  of 
money  with  you,  surely?"  cried  Harry. 
"Why,  man,  you're  mad  1" 

"But  I  didn't  think  there'd  be  any  dan 
ger  on  the  railway,"  said  Russell. 

"  If  your  money  is  in  bills  of  exchange 
you'll  be  right  enough,"  said  Harry. 

Russell  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  said  he,  "it's  worse  than  that." 

"How?" 

"  My  money  is  in  bub-bub-bonds — Span 
ish  bub-bub-bonds." 

"  Bonds !"  repeated  Harry. 

"Yes,"  groaned  Russell — " kik-kik-cou- 
pon  bub-bub-bonds." 

"Coupon  bonds!  Why,  man,  what  in 
Heaven's  name  are  you  doing  with  coupon 
bonds  in  this  country  ?" 

"  Why,  they're  Spanish  bonds,  and  I  was 
taking  them  out  of  the  country  to  Eng 
land." 

"Whew!"  whistled  Harry.  "In  how 
much  ?" 

"  Thirty  thousand  pounds !"  wrailed  Rus 
sell,  in  a  voice  of  despair. 

Another  prolonged  whistle  was  the  re 
sult  of  this  information. 

"  It's  no  use  making  it  a  secret  to  you," 
continued  Russell.  "I'll  be  searched,  I 
suppose,  and  the  bonds  '11  be  taken." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  to  do,"  said  Harry : 
"  let  me  take  care  of  them." 

Russell  shook  his  head. 

"  N-no ;  you'll  be  searched  too.  They'll 
be  no  safer." 

"Well,  then,  hide  them  in  this  room 
somewhere." 


"I  don't  know  where  to  hide  them," 
said  Russell,  dolefully ;  "  besides,  we  may 
be  taken  to  another  room,  and  so  it's  no 
use  hiding  them  here.  I've  been  thinking 
of  sewing  them  up  inside  the  lining  of  my 
coat,  only  I  haven't  any  needle  and  thread 
to  sew  with.  Oh,  if  Mrs.  Russell  were  here ! 
I  didn't  think  of  this.  I'd  get  her  to  stitch 
them  inside  rny  coat  to-night.  And  now 
I  don't  know  what  to  do.  If  it  weren't  for 
these  bonds  I  should  feel  safe  enough. 
But  the  amount  is  so  e-noraious  !" 

"Are  they  registered  ?" 

"  Oh  no.  I  don't  believe  they  register 
bonds  in  this  miserable  country,  or  do  any 
thing  but  steal  them,"  groaned  Russell. 
"  I  suppose  they'll  overhaul  us  all  to-mor 
row." 

"Very  likely." 

"  Can  you  think  of  any  way  by  which  I 
can  hide  these  bonds  ?" 

Harry  shook  his  head.  At  the  same  mo 
ment  there  occurred  to  him  what  Ashby 
had  told  him  about  certain  Spanish  bonds. 
If  Ashby  was  right,  then  this  must  be  the 
very  money  which  belonged  to  Katie,  and 
which,  according  to  Ashby,  Russell  was  try 
ing  to  get  hold  of  for  himself.  From  this 
point  of  view  it  suddenly  assumed  an  im 
mense  interest  in  his  eyes,  and  drove  away 
the  thought  of  every  other  thing.  Even 
the  fire  was  now  forgotten,  and  the  bench 
was  not  desecrated  by  the  knife. 

"  See  here ;  I'll  tell  you  what  to  do,"  said 
Harry,  thoughtfully  and  earnestly.  "  The 
very  worst  thing  that  you  can  do  is  to  car 
ry  all  that  money  about  with  you,  on  your 
own  person,  mind  that.  You'll  be  searched, 
of  course.  To  stitch  them  in  your  clothes 
is  absurd.  These  people  will  examine  ev 
ery  square  inch  of  all  your  clothes,  includ 
ing  your  shirt-collar,  your  pocket-handker 
chief,  your  silk  hat,  and  your  boots.  They'd 
find  the  smallest  fragment  of  a  bit  of  paper, 
even  if  you  had  it  hidden  inside  your  boot 
laces.  Now,  I'll  tell  you  what  you'll  have 
to  do.  You'll  have  to  get  rid  of  that  mon 
ey  of  yours." 

"Bub -bub -bub -but  how?"  stammered 
Russell,  in  fresh  consternation. 

"How?    Why, hide  it." 

"Where?" 

"  Somewhere  about  here — and  soon  too 
— before  you  go  to  sleep." 

"But  suppose  I  am  tit-tit-taken  away, 
and  don't  come  back  again  ?" 

"  Well,  in  that  case  your  only  hope  is  to 
confide  in  me,  and  then  if  you  are  taken 


50 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


away  I  shall  perhaps  be  left.  It's  not  like 
ly  that  both  of  us  will  be  taken  away  from 
here.  We  shall  perhaps  be  separated,  and 
one  will  be  left  behind.  In  that  case  the 
one  who  is  left  can  watch  over  the  treas 
ure.  Besides,  in  case  we  should  escape  we 
shall  know  where  it  is,  and  we  may  be  able 
to  get  the  government  to  send  a  body  of 
men  here  to  help  us  recover  it." 

"  Oh  yes — the  government !"  said  Russell, 
bitterly.  "I  know  the  government  here — 
only  too  well.  The  government  will  send 
a  body  of  men  here  to  help  us  recover  it, 
and  then — why,  then  of  course  they'll  keep 
it  all  for  themselves,  every  farthing.  Yes, 
sir,  that's  the  Spanish  style — every  farthing. 
No ;  don't  talk  to  me  about  the  govern 
ment.  I'm  bound  to  hold  on  to  this,  and 
not  trust  to  any  of  your  beggarly  Spanish 
governments." 

"  But  if  you  hold  on  to  it  you'll  be  sure 
to  lose  it,"  said  Harry,  in  great  impatience. 

"I  don't  believe  they'll  examine  me  at 
all,"  said  Russell,  suddenly  changing  his 
tone. 

"They  will," persisted  Harry, "as  sure  as 
you're  alive,  and  that  too  before  this  time 
to-morrow.  In  that  case  you'll  lose  every 
penny  of  the  thirty  thousand  pounds." 

(And  of  course,  thought  Harry,  it'll  be 
poor  little  Katie's  loss;  and  all  through 
the  infernal  obstinacy  of  this  pig-headed 
tailor !) 

"  Oh,  well.  I'll  think  it  over,"  said  Rus 
sell,  cautiously  avoiding  any  further  discus 
sion. 

"You  won't  have  much  time  for  that," 
urged  Harry. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  will — plenty  of  time.  I'll  have 
all  night,  for  I  won't  sleep  a  wink,  and  I 
shall  have  nothing  else  to  do  but  to  think 
over  this." 

This  was  droned  out  in  a  tone  of  utter 
despair. 

Harry  spent  some  more  time  in  trying  to 
change  Russell's  mind,  but  in  vain ;  and  at 
length  he  gave  up,  thinking  that  he  would 
have  a  better  chance  in  the  morning.  Be 
sides,  he  was  beginning  to  feel  sleepy,  and 
his  arguments  were  growing  somewhat  in 
coherent  ;  so  he  flung  himself  on  the  rude 
couch  just  as  he  was,  "  all  standing,"  and 
in  a  few  minutes  was  sound  asleep. 

Russell  sat  motionless  for  some  time,  un 
til  at  length  the  heavy  breathing  of  his  com 
panion  showed  that  he  was  asleep.  Upon 
this  he  rose,  and  went  on  tiptoe  softly  over 
to  Harry's  bed,  and  tried  in  various  ways 


to  see  whether  the  sleep  was  false  or  real. 
Having  assured  himself  that  it  was  real,  he 
took  up  the  torch  and  began  to  survey  the 
apartment  more  closely.  Already,  while 
talking  with  Harry,  his  eyes  had  narrowly 
scanned  every  corner  of  the  room,  and  no 
place  had  appeared  which  could  afford  the 
slightest  chance  of  concealment.  From  the 
very  first  he  had  thought  of  the  stone  pave 
ment  of  the  floor ;  but  now,  on  examination, 
this  proved  to  be  far  too  ponderous  to  be 
moved  by  any  force  that  he  could  com 
mand.  Thus,  after  having  traversed  the 
whole  room,  he  reached  the  fireplace. 

This,  as  has  been  said,  was  of  gigantic 
dimensions,  being  intended  to  hold  enough 
wood  to  heat  this  vast  apartment.  Here 
among  the  mountains,  inside  this  stone  cas 
tle,  the  cold  was  sometimes  severe,  and  the 
builders  of  the  castle  had  in  this  way  made 
provision  for  the  comfort  of  its  occupants. 
To  this  chimney  Russell  now  turned  his  at 
tention,  in  the  hope  that  something  might 
present  itself  here  which  could  be  used 
as  a  place  of  concealment.  So  he  walked 
stealthily  and  noiselessly  toward  it,  and  on 
reaching  it  stood  surveying  its  huge  dimen 
sions  in  great  astonishment.  Such  chim 
neys  may  still  be  seen  in  many  an  old  cas 
tle  or  palace  in  the  north  of  Europe,  though 
less  frequent  in  the  castles  of  Spain.  This 
one  was  deep  and  wide  and  high,  and  our 
friend  Russell  could  easily  enter  it  without 
stooping. 

He  entered  thus  the  great  fireplace  and 
looked  around,  holding  his  torch  so  as  to 
light  up  the  interior.  Below,  there  was  the 
pavement  of  stone,  which  seemed  solid  and 
immovable.  Above,  the  chimney  arose  far 
on  high,  and  through  the  \v£de  opening  the 
sky  overhead  was  plainly  visible,  with  its 
glittering  stars. 

Now,  as  Russell  stood  peering  about,  he 
noticed  something  in  the  construction  of 
the  chimney  which  struck  him  as  rather 
peculiar,  and  this  was  several  stones  on  the 
left  side,  which  projected  from  the  wall 
and  were  placed  one  above  another.  The 
arrangement  was  so  singular  that  it  at  once 
arrested  his  attention,  and  being  in  search 
of  a  hiding-place  for  his  treasure,  he  could 
not  avoid  examining  it  further  with  keener 
interest.  This  arrangement  of  the  stones 
one  above  another  was  suggestive  of  climb 
ing.  They  seemed  intended  for  steps,  and 
he  therefore  peered  upward  more  curiously, 
to  see  how  far  these  steps  continued  and 
what  was  the  end.  Looking  thus  upward, 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


he  noticed  on  one  side  what  seemed  like  a 
niche  in  the  chimney  wall.  It  was  so 
formed  that  it  was  not  visible  unless  one 
were  standing  deep  inside  the  chimney  and 
looking  up  for  it,  and  it  seemed  to  be  deep 
and  spacious.  No  sooner  had  he  caught 
sight  of  this  niche  than  he  determined  to 
investigate  it  farther.  For  a  few  moments 
he  paused  to  see  whether  Harry  was  still 
asleep  or  not,  and  then,  being  satisfied  on 
this  point,  he  began  to  climb  up.  So  nice 
ly  were  the  stones  adjusted  that  this  was 
easy  even  to  an  inactive  and  heavy  man 
like  him,  and  after  ascending  three  steps 
he  stood  and  peered  into  the  niche.  It 
seemed  quite  deep.  He  could  not  see  any 
end  to  it  or  any  terminating  wall.  What 
the  design  of  it  was  he  could  not  imagine. 
He  saw,  however,  that  it  afforded  an  admi 
rable  place  of  concealment  for  his  treasure, 
and  he  determined  at  once  to  avail  himself 
of  it.  Here  he  thought  it  would  be  secure 
from  discovery,  and  it  might  remain  here 
undetected  and  unharmed  for  any  length 
of  time.  As  for  fire,  it  was  not  likely  that 
the  chimney  was  ever  used ;  but  even  if  it 
were,  there  was  scarcely  any  possibility 
that  the  flames  could  affect  anything  in 
this  deep  niche. 

Russell  now  took  from  his  pocket  a  bulky 
parcel,  and  leaning  far  inside  the  niche,  he 
laid  it  carefully  down.  Then  he  held  up 
the  torch  and  allowed  its  light  to  fall  into 
the  niche,  so  as  to  see  that  all  was  secure ; 
after  which,  feeling  fully  satisfied  with  his 
work,  and  experiencing  a  great  sense  of  re 
lief,  he  descended  from  his  perch.  Shortly 
after  he  extinguished  the  torch,  and  then, 
stretching  himself  out  on  the  bed  beside 
Harry,  he  resigned  himself  to  oblivion. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

IN    WHICH    RUSSELL    UNDERGOES    AN    EXAMINATION. 

EARLY  on  the  following  morning  Russell 
was  roused  from  sleep  by  a  messenger,  who 
made  a  peremptory  demand  for  him  to  rise 
and  follow.  Harry  explained  that  he  was 
wanted  by  the  Carlist  chief  for  examina 
tion,  and  reproached  him  for  not  having 
concealed  the  bonds  the  previous  night;  at 
which  reproachful  words  Russell  showed  no 
signs  of  dejection,  as  Harry  had  expected, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  to  his  amazement, 
seemed  to  have  upon  his  face  a  slight  air 
of  triumph,  regarding  him  with  a  self-satis- 
lied  smile  and  a  cunning  leer  which  puzzled 


him  greatly.  This  strange  and  unexpected 
change  in  Russell,  from  terror  and  despair 
to  peace  of  mind  and  jocularity,  was  a  puz 
zle  over  which  Harry  racked  his  brains  for 
some  time,  but  to  no  purpose. 

Meanwhile  Russell  was  led  away.  He 
didn't  take  up  any  time  with  his  toilet,  for 
the  unfortunate  man  saw  nothing  with 
which  he  could  even  wash  his  face.  How 
ever,  he  made  no  complaint,  and  for  a  very 
good  reason,  since  he  could  not  speak  a 
word  of  Spanish  ;  and,  moreover,  he  still 
felt  so  joyful  over  his  concealment  of  the 
treasure,  that  he  was  able  to  bear  with 
considerable  equanimity  all  the  lesser  ills 
of  life. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  found  himself  ush 
ered  into  the  presence  of  the  Carlist  chief. 
The  latter  was  seated  upon  a  chest,  over 
which  some  rugs  were  spread.  Another 
chest  wras  also  there,  upon  which  he  signed 
to  Russell  to  be  seated. 

"  Ye  doesn't  spake  Spanish  ?"  said  the 
chief. 

At  these  words  Russell  started  and  stared 
in  surprise.  The  words  were  English,  with 
an  accent  that  was  not  altogether  unfamil 
iar.  It  seemed  a  good  omen. 

"  Do  you  speak  English  ?"  he  exclaimed. 

"  A  throiflc,"  said  the  chief.  "  I  had  a 
frind  that  learned  me  a  few  sintincis  av  it ; 
so  I  doesn't  moind  spakin  it,  as  it'll  be  more 
convaynient  for  both  av  us.  Ye  must  know, 
thin,  that,  in  the  first  place,  I  lamint  the  ne- 
cessichood  that  compils  me  to  arrest  the 
loikes  av  you,  but  I've  got  arders  from  me 
military  shupariors,  an'  I've  got  to  obey 
thim,  so  I  have.  It's  no  use  protistin,  for 
I'm  only  an  agint.  So  I'd  loike  yez  to 
be  honest  wid  me,  an'  I'll  be  the  same  wid 
you." 

"  Why,  you  speak  English  first-rate — in 
fact,  splendid,''  said  the  delighted  Russell. 
"  I  never  heard  a  foreigner  speak  it  so  well 
before." 

"  Sure  an'  it's  aisy  enough,"  said  the 
chief;  "as  aisy  as  dhrinkin',  whin  ye  have 
practice.  I've  got  a  farm  accint,  av  coorse, 
but  that's  nayther  here  nor  there." 

Russell  thought  that  his  accent  had  a  lit 
tle  smack  of  Irish  about  it,  and  wondered 
whether  all  Spaniards  spoke  English  like 
that. 

"  Ye'll  excuse  me,"  said  the  chief,  "  if  I 
have  to  ax  you  a  few  throiflin  interroga 
tions  for  farrum's  sake.  I'll  now  begin. 
What  is  your  name?" 

"  Russell." 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


"  Russell— ah !     What  profession  ?" 

"  A  gentleman,"  said  Russell,  somewhat 
pompously. 

"  A  gintleman,  eh  ;  an'  ye  live  on  yer  own 
money  ?" 

"  Of  course." 

"  That's  right,"  said  the  chief,  with  deep 
satisfaction.  "  It's  rneself  that's  the  proud 
man  this  day  to  meet  wid  the  loikes  av  you 
that's  got  an  indepindint  fartune,  an'  can 
call  his  sowl  his  own.  An'  have  yez  been 
long  in  Spain,  thin  ?" 

"  No,  only  a  couple  of  months." 

"  Thravellin'  for  plisure,  av  coorse,"  in 
sinuated  the  chief. 

"  Yes ;  I  wanted  to  take  a  run  through 
the  Continent,"  said  Russell,  in  a  grandiose 
way,  as  though  the  "  Continent"  was  some 
thing  belonging  to  him;  "and  I'm  also 
bringing  home  with  me  a  ward  of  mine — 
Miss  Westlotorn." 

"Ah!  an'  so  the  young  lady  is  a  ward 
av  yours  ?  I  thought  she  was  your  daugh 
ter." 

"  No,  she's  my  ward." 

"  Is  she  rich  ?" 

"  Well,  sir,  she's  comfortable ;  she's  worth 
about  fifty  thousand  pounds  sterling.  Now 
I  don't  call  that  rich  ;  I  only  call  it  com 
fortable." 

"  An'  what  do  yez  call  rich  ?"  asked  the 
chief,  in  a  tender  voice,  full  of  affectionate 
interest. 

"Well,  a  couple  of  hundred  thousand 
pounds  or  so.  You  see,  when  I  was  worth 
fifty  thousand  I  thought  I  was  somebody, 
but  I  soon  learned  how  paltry  an  amount 
that  is.  No,  sir;  two  hundred  thousand 
pounds  are  necessary  to  make  a  rich  man, 
and  not  a  penny  less,  sir — not  a  penny,  sir." 

"  Thim's  me  own  sintimints  intirely,"  said 
the  chief;  "that  shuits  me,  so  it  does.  I 
saw  by  the  cut  av  yez  that  ye  must  be  a 
millionnaire  at  laste — so  I  did." 

"  A  millionnaire  !"  said  Russell,  with  af 
fected  modesty.  "  Well,  you  know,  in  Eng 
land  that's  a  big  word  ;  but  I  suppose  here 
in  Spain,  or  anywhere  on  the  Continent,  I 
might  be  called  one." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  the  chief,  after  a  pause, 
"  that  ye've  got  an  ixtinsive  acquaintince 
wid  the  nobility  an'  gintry  an'  all  thim  fel 
lers  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Russell,  "  I  have ;  and  not  in 
England  only,  but  throughout  the  Conti 
nent.  Not  that  I  think  much  of  the  Con 
tinental  nobility.  Between  you  and  me,  I 
think  they're  a  beggarly  lot." 


"  Thrue  for  you,"  said  the  chief.  "  Thim's 
me  own  siutimints." 

"  Why,  sir,"  continued  Russell,  who  evi 
dently  thought  he  was  making  a  deep  im 
pression,  and  so  went  on  all  the  more  in  his 
vainglorious  boastings,  "  some  of  these  here 
Continental  nobility  ain't  worth  a  brass  far 
thing.  Why,  sir,  there's  lots  of  respectable 
English  merchants — tailors,  for  instance — 
and  other  quiet,  unassuming  gentlemen, 
who  could  buy  out  these  Continental  no 
bles,  out  and  out,  over  and  over  again." 

"  Divil  a  doubt  av  that  same,"  said  the 
chief.  l'Ye  know  how  to  ixpriss  yourself 
wid  very  shuitable  sintimints.  I'd  like  to 
know  more  av  you.  I  suppose  ye've  got  a 
passport  ?" 

"  A  passport  ?"  said  Russell.  "  Well,  yes, 
I  believe  I  did  get  one ;"  and  fumbling  in 
his  pocket,  he  succeeded  in  bringing  to  light 
that  important  document.  .This  the  chief 
took,  and,  without  opening  it,  put  it  in  his 
own  pocket. 

"I'll  take  a  luk  at  it  prisintly,"  said  he. 
"  Perhaps  ye  can  tell  me  about  yer  frind,  the 
young  man  that's  wid  yez.  Is  he  yer  son  ?" 

"  Son  ?  Oh  no ;  but  he's  a  doosed  fine 
young  feller.  His  name's  Rivers." 

"  Is  he  rich  ?" 

"  Well,  lie's  pretty  comfortable,  I  think. 
He's  in  the  wine  and  fruit  business,  and  has 
an  agency  at  Barcelona." 

"  Sure  an'  it's  meself  that's  glad  to  hear 
that  same,"  said  the  chief.  "An'  can  ye 
tell  me  anything  about  that  other  young 
man  that  was  shtrivin'  to  join  yer  party  ?" 

"That  fellow— his  name's  Ashby." 

"Ashby,isit?" 

"  Yes,  and  the  greatest  scoundrel  that  ever 
lived — a  miserable  fortune-hunter,  tiying  to 
inveigle  my  ward  into  a  marriage.  I  came 
here  barely  in  time  to  save  her.  And  the 
only  object  the  infernal  scoundrel  has  now 
in  sneaking  after  me  is  to  try  and  get  hold 
of  her  and  get  her  from  me.  But  he'll 
find  he's  got  pretty  tough  work  before  him. 
He's  got  me  to  deal  with  this  time." 

"  Is  the  young  gyerrul  fond  av  him?"  asked 
the  chief,  in  a  tone  of  deep  anxiety. 

"She?  Fond  of  him?  Pooh!  Nonsense! 
She's  like  all  girls — likes  to  have  attentions 
paid  her,  that's  all ;  and  so  this  poor  fool 
thought  she  would  marry  him.  Why,  the 
man's  an  ass !  But  I  guess  he's  had  enough 
of  chasing  her  by  this  time.  By  Jove! 
there's  some  satisfaction,  after  all,  in  being 
caught  this  way,  since  he's  caught  too." 

Some  further  conversation  followed  of 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


53 


the  same  kind.  Russell  continued  to  in 
dulge  in  a  strain  of  self-glorification,  and 
the  chief  to  ask  him  questions.  By  yield 
ing  to  his  silly  vanity  Russell  was  prepar 
ing  the  way  for  results  which  he  little  ex 
pected.  Little  did  he  dream  of  what  was 
soon  to  disclose  itself.  He  thought  that 
he  was  impressing  the  mind  of  the  Carlist 
chief  with  ideas  of  the  greatness,  grandeur, 
power,  wealth,  and  glory  of  the  celebrated 
Russell  whom  he  had  made  his  prisoner, 
and  hoped  in  this  way  to  overawe  his  cap 
tor  so  as  to  secure  good  treatment,  or  even 
to  terrify  him  into  letting  him  go.  He 
little  knew  that  the  chief  regarded  him 
merely  as  a  bird  to  be  plucked.  In  his 
eyes,  the  more  the  feathers  the  greater  the 
yield.  The  moment  the  chief  found  that 
his  prisoner  professed  to  be  a  millionnaire, 
that  moment  the  fate  of  Russell  and  his  par 
ty  was  sealed.  The  effect  upon  the  chief  was 
already  manifest  in  part,  for  every  moment 
he  grew  more  courteous  in  his  manner. 

"  Sure  it's  meself,"  said  he,  at  length, 
"  that's  bothered  about  the  accommoda 
tions  ye  have.  It's  a  cowld,  damp  room 
that,  an'  no  furniture  at  all  at  all.'' 

"  Yes,"  said  Russell,  "  it  is  rather  rough  ; 
and  for  a  man  that's  accustomed  to  high 
living  and  luxurious  surroundings  it's  very 
bad.  I'm  dreadful  afraid  of  rheumatiz." 

"Don't  spake  another  word  about  it," 
said  the  chief,  briskly.  "  I'll  find  ye  anoth 
er  room  where  ye'll  be  as  comfortable  as 
the  Quane  av  England.  Ye'll  have  as  good 
a  bed  as  the  best." 

This  sudden  offer  startled  Russell  and  ex 
cited  dreadful  apprehensions.  What  would 
become  of  his  bonds  ?  He  hastened  now 
to  modify  his  last  words. 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  he, "  for  that  matter,  you 
needn't  trouble  yourself.  I  dare  say  I  shall 
do  very  well  where  I  am." 

"Do  very  well,  is  it?  What!  an'  you 
wid  the  rheumatiz  !  Sure  to  glory  an'  ye'll 
not  do  anything  av  the  kind.  I'll  get  yez 
another  room  where  ye'll  be  warrum." 

"  Oh,  but,"  said  Russell,  in  deep  uneasi 
ness,  "  I  like  that  room,  I  do,  really.  I  like 
the  view  and  the  — the  —  the  ventilation. 
It's  splendid — in  fact  it's  the  finest  room  to 
sleep  in  I  ever  saw.  If  you  could  only  let 
me  have  a  bed  to  myself — " 

"A  bed  to  yerself ?  Sure  an'  that's  jist 
what  I'm  going  to  give  ye — a  bed  to  yer 
self  altogether  an'  a  room  too ;  an'  so  ye'll 
have  comfort,  an'  warrumth,  an'  solichood 
all  comboined." 


"But, really,"  persisted  Russell, "  my  dear 
sir,  all  that  is  quite  unnecessary." 

"  Not  a  bit  av  it.  Ye'll  have  the  best ; 
an'  the  room  '11  be  yours  at  onct,  so  it  will ; 
an'  ye'll  not  go  back  to  bed  again  in  that 
frozen  hole." 

"But  I  assure  you — I  assure  you,"  per 
sisted  Russell,  most  earnestly,  "  it's  a  noble 
room  —  a  comfortable  room  —  a  splendid 
room." 

"  Oh,  sure  ye're  too  modest,  so  ye  are," 
said  the  chief.  "  But  nivir  ye  moind — lave 
it  all  to  me.  I'll  fix  it  for  ye." 

Russell  was  in  deep  dejection  and  anxi 
ety,  yet  he  felt  afraid  to  press  the  matter 
too  eagerly.  To  be  taken  away  from  the 
vicinity  of  his  treasure  was  indeed  a  crush 
ing  blow,  yet  he  dared  not  object  too 
strongly  lest  the  chief  might  suspect  some 
thing.  So  he  could  only  submit  with  the 
best  grace  possible  under  the  circumstances, 
and  find  faint  consolation  in  the  thought 
that  the  treasure  was  at  least  secure. 

After  a  brief  silence  the  chief  resumed : 

"  It's  pained  I  am,  so  I  am,  to  trouble  a 
gintleman  av  fartune,  but  I'm  undher  the 
onplisint  naycissichood  av  subjictin'  ye  to  a 
further  examination.  It's  a  mite  onplisint 
at  first,  but  it's  nothin'  whin  yer  used  to 
it," 

"Another  examination?"  repeated  Rus 
sell,  with  no  little  uneasiness.  "  What  is 
that?" 

"  Oh,  it's  only  an  examination  av  yer  ap 
parel,  yer  clothes,  bit  by  bit." 

"My  clothes?" 

"Yes  —  to  gyard  against  anythin'  bein' 
concailecl  about  ye." 

"  But  I  have  nothing  concealed,  on  my 
honor !" 

At  this  the  chief  waved  his  hands  depre- 
catingly. 

"Hush!"  said  he.  "Whisht,  will  ye! 
don't  I  know  it  ?  begorra  meself  does.  It's 
all  a  mere  farrum.  It's  a  laygal  inactmint 
that  I've  got  to  follow.  Discipline  must 
be  kept  up.  Sure  an'  if  I  didn't  obey  the 
law  meself  first  an'  foremost,  me  own  mind 
'ud  all  revolt  against  me,  an'  thin  where'd 
I  be  ?  But  it'll  not  be  anythin'.  Sure  to 
glory,  many's  the  fine  man  I've  shtripped, 
an'  him  none  the  worse  for  it.  So  go 
ahead,  fool,  an'  the  sooner  ye  begin,  the 
sooner  it'll  be  over." 

"  I — I — don't  see — I — I — don't  know — " 
stammered  Russell. 

"  Arrah,  sure  to  glory,  it's  as  aisy  as  wink. 
Begin  where  ye  are." 


54 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


"  What, here?"  cried  Russell,  aghast. 

"  Yis." 

';  Undress  here  ?" 

"Av  coorse." 

"But — but  —  mayn't  I  Lave  a  private 
room  ?" 

"But  ye  mayn't,  for  ye  moight  consale 
sometliin'.  Ye've  got  to  ondress  before  the 
examinin'  committee  —  that's  me.  Some 
times  it's  done  in  the  presence  av  a  com 
mittee  av  the  whole — that's  the  whole  reg 
iment  av  us ;  but  this  time,  out  av  jue  re 
spect  for  you  an'  considherations  av  decar- 
rum,  I've  farrumed  a  committee  av  one." 

"  But  what  other  clothes  may  I  put  on  ?" 
asked  Russell,  ruefully. 

"  Sure  an'  I've  got  a  fine  shuit  for  ye." 

"I  don't  see  any." 

"Oh,  they're  handy  enough  to  here: 
they're  in  the  next  room,  quite  convay- 
nient,  an'  I'll  let  ye  have  thim  afther  ye 
get  these  off." 

Russell  stood  still  in  deep  gloom  and  de 
spondency.  All  his  finest  feelings  were 
outraged  beyond  description  at  this  pro 
posal.  The  chief,  however,  sat  calm  and 
smiling,  as  though  quite  unconscious  of  any 
evil  intent. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "  hurry  up  !" 

There  was  no  help  for  it.  He  was  clear 
ly  in  this  man's  power.  It  was  a  dreadful 
thought ;  yet  he  had  to  obey. 

So  he  took  off  his  cravat.  This  he  did 
slowly  and  solemnly,  as  though  preparing 
to  bare  his  neck  for  the  axe  of  the  execu 
tioner. 

"Come,  make  haste,"  said  the  chief. 
"  I've  only  got  a  few  minutes  to  spare  ;  an' 
if  ye  can't  change  yer  clothes  before  me 
alone,  why,  I'll  have  to  go  off,  an'  thin  ye'll 
have  half  a  dozen  av  thim  up  here  at  ye." 

"And  must  I?"  moaned  the  unhappy 
man. 

" Av  coorse,"  said  the  chief.  "An'  what 
is  it  all  ?  Sure  it's  nothin'  at  all  at  all,  so 
it  isn't." 

Russell  gave  a  heavy  sigh,  and  then  tak 
ing  off  his  coat  he  laid  it  on  the  floor. 
Then  he  cast  an  appealing  glance  at  the 
chief,  who,  however,  only  responded-  with 
an  impatient  gesture.  Thereupon'  Russell 
took  off  his  waistcoat.  Another  appealing 
glance  was  then  thrown  at  the  chief,  who 
only  responded  by  a  gesture  more  impa 
tient  than  before. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "  be  quick  !  Ye  see,  ye 
may  have  no  end  av  valuable  dockymints 
stitched  in  between  the  lining  av  yer 


clothes  —  I've  often  knowed  that  same. 
Begorra,  we  get  more  in  that  way  that 
we  find  stitched  in  the  clothes,  than  we 
do  from  the  wallets  an'  the  opin  conthri- 
butions." 

"But  I  haven't  anything  stitched  be 
tween  my  clothes." 

"  So  ye  say,  an'  so  I'm  bound  to  believe," 
said  the  chief.  "  Sure  I  wouldn't  for  the 
worruld  be  afther  hintin'  that  ye  iver  spake 
any  thin'  but  the  truth.  Howandiver,  I'll 
tell  ye  somethin'.  Ye  see,  I  was  standin' 
at  the  dure  av  yer  room  last  night  by  the 
marest  accidint,  an'  I  happened  to  overhear 
a  confabulation  between  you  an'  Rivers. 
An'  ye  know  what  ye  towld  him,  and  ye 
know  what  he  said  to  you.  Ye  said  some- 
thin'  about  havin'  Spanish  bonds — to  the 
chime  av  thirty  thousand  pounds— in  yer 
pocket,  or  about  ye  somewhere,  an'  ye 
wanted  some  place  to  hide*  it,  an'  Rivers 
advised  ye  to  have  it  stitched  in  yer 
clothes.  Now,  I  scorrun  avesdhroppin',  so 
I  does,  but  whin  infarrumation  av  that 
kind  comes  free  to  yer  ears,  ye're  bound  to 
get  the  good  av  it.  An'  so  I'm  goin'  to 
instichoot  an  invistigation  over  yer  clothes, 
an'  over  yer  room,  an'  over  yer  thrunks,  an' 
over  everythin'  ye've  got,  an'  I'm  not  goin' 
to  rist  till  I've  got  thim  bonds.  Oh,  ye 
needn't  say  any  thin'  —  I  can  see  it  all  in 
yer  face.  There's  nothin'  to  say.  I  don't 
expect  ye  to  own  up  an'  hand  over  the 
money.  I'm  contint  to  hunt  it  up  meself 
— that  is,  for  the  prisint.  Ye  sec,  it's  mine, 
for  it  belongs  to  His  R'yal  Majesty  Carlos, 
King  av  Spain.  The  bonds  are  issued  by 
Spain,  an'  as  he  is  King  av  Spain  he  owns 
thim  bonds.  If  ye  was  a  native  Spaniard 
ye'd  give  thim  up  out  av  pure  loyalty,  but 
as  ye're  a  farr'ner,  why,  av  coorse  ye  can't 
be  ixpicted  to  deny  yerself  to  such  an  ix- 
tint." 

At  this  astounding  disclosure  Russell 
was  struck  dumb.  So,  then,  his  secret  was 
betrayed,  and  in  the  most  dangerous  quar 
ter,  and,  worst  of  all,  by  his  own  folly ! 
Once  or  twice  he  was  about  to  speak,  but 
the  chief  checked  him,  and  he  himself  was 
only  too  well  aware  of  the  utter  futility  of 
any  denial  or  of  any  attempt  to  explain 
!  away  what  the  chief  had  overheard.  Only 


one  consolation  now  remained,  and  that 


was  the  hope  that  the  chief  might  not  find 
it.  The  place  in  which  he  had  hidden  the 
I  bonds  seemed  to  him  to  be  very  much  out 
of  the  way  of  an  ordinary  search,  and  not 
at  all  likely  to  be  explored  by  any  one. 


HIS    UNFORTUNATE    COMPANION    SAT    THERE,  THE    PICTURE    OP   TERROR,  DESPONDENCY,  AND    MISERY. 


"  AN'  so,  i  SAY,  YE'LL  HAVE  TO  LOOK  ON  THIM  GIN'RAL'S  CLOTHES  AS  YER  OWN." 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


55 


At  length  Russell  Lad  finished  his  task, 
and  had  divested  himself  of  everything, 
his  remorseless  captor  insisting  on  his  leav 
ing  nothing ;  and  so  he  stood  shivering  and 
crouching  on  the  stone  floor. 

"  Now,"  said  the  chief,  "  walk  in  there. 
I'll  follow." 

He  pointed  to  a  passage-way  on  the  left, 
which  led  to  an  apartment  beyond.  At 
his  gesture  Russell  slunk  away  in  that 
direction,  while  the  chief,  gathering  all 
the  clothes  up  in  a  bundle,  followed.  On 
reaching  the  apartment,  Russell  saw  some 
garments  lying  spread  out  on  a  bench. 
They  were  quite  new,  and  consisted  of  a 
military  uniform  profusely  decorated  with 
gold-lace.  Everything  was  there  complete. 

"  There,"  said  the  chief,  "  thim  clothes 
belonged  to  a  frind  av  mine  whose  ac 
quaintance  I  made  a  month  ago.  He  left 
these  here  an'  wint  away  in  another  shuit, 
just  as  ye'li  lave  yer  clothes  an'  go  away, 
as  I  thrust,  in  these.  Put  thim  on  now,  as 
soon  as  ye  loike.  Ye'll  find  thim  a  fine  fit, 
an'  they're  an  excellint  matayrial.  The 
frind  that  left  thim  was  a  giniral  oiflcer, 
and  be  the  same  tokin  that  same  man  swore 
more,  an'  faster,  an'  louder,  an'  deeper  than 
any  man  I  iver  met  with  afore  or  since." 

While  the  affable  chief  was  thus  talking, 
Russell  proceeded  to  array  himself  in  the 
general's  uniform.  Everything  was  there 
complete,  from  top  to  toe,  and  everything 
was  of  the  very  best  quality — richest  gold 
lace,  glittering  epaulettes,  stripes  and  bands 
that  dazzled  the  eye,  buttons  and  chains  of 
splendor  indescribable,  hat  with  gorgeous 
plumage,  sword  of  magnificent  decoration, 
attached  to  a  belt  that  a  king  might  choose 
to  wear.  All  these  delighted  the  soul  of 
Russell,  but  not  least  of  all  the  cloth,  whose 
softness  and  exquisite  fineness  appealed  to 
his  professional  feelings,  and  caused  his  fin 
gers  to  wander  lovingly  over  the  costly 
fabric. 

Soon  he  had  completed  the  task  of  dress 
ing  himself,  and  once  more  stood  erect  in 
all  the  dignity  of  manhood. 

"  Begorra !"  said  the  chief,  "  ye'd  ought 
to  be  grateful  to  me  for  makin'  ye  put  on 
thim  clothes.  Ye  look  loike  a  commandher- 
in-chafe,  so  ye  do — loike  the  Juke  av  Wel 
lington  himself.  The  clothes  fit  ye  loike  a 
glove.  I  niver  saw  a  betther  fit — niver. 
Ye  must  put  on  yer  sword  an'  belt,  so  as 
to  give  a  finish  to  it  all,"  and  with  these 
words  he  handed  Russell  the  weapon  of 
war.  Russell  took  it  with  evident  pleas 


ure  and  fastened  it  about  his  waist.  The 
chief  made  him  walk  up  and  down,  and 
complimented  him  so  strongly  that  the 
prisoner  in  his  new  delight  almost  forgot 
the  woes  of  captivity. 

The  chief  now  prepared  to  retire.  Point 
ing  to  Russell's  clothes,  which  he  had  kept 
all  the  time  rolled  up  in  a  bundle  tucked 
under  one  arm,  he  shook  his  head  medita 
tively  and  said, 

"It'll  be  a  long  job  I'll  be  bavin'  wid 
these." 

"  Why  so  ?"  asked  Russell. 

u  Sure  it's  the  examinin'  that  I've  got  to 
do,"  said  the  chief.  "  Gin'rally  we  examine 
thim  by  stickin'  pins  through  every  part, 
but  in  yer  case  there's  thirty  thousand 
pounds  stowed  away  somewhere,  an'  I'm 
goin'  meself  to  rip  every  stitch  apart.  Af- 
ther  I've  done  wid  my  search  thro'  thim 
clothes,  it  isn't  loikely  that  any  one  in  this 
castle  '11  ever  be  loikely  to  put  thim  togeth 
er  again.  To  do  that  same  'ud  nade  a  pro- 
fissional  tailor  wid  a  crayative  janius,  so  it 
would.  An'  so,  I  say,  ye'll  have  to  look  on 
thim  gin'ral's  clothes  as  yer  own ;  an'  whin 
yc  get  free,  as  I  hope  ye'll  be  soon,  ye  may 
wear  thim  away  home  wid  ye,  an'  take  my 
blessin'  wid  ye.  Moreover,  ye'll  have  to 
keep  this  room.  I'll  spind  this  day  in  ex 
aminin'  yer  clothes,  an'  to-morrow  I'll  ex 
amine  the  other  room.  The  bonds  '11  kape 
till  then,  as  I  know  ye  haven't  to  wid  Riv 
ers  anythin'  about  what  ye  done  wid  thim." 

With  these  words  the  chief  retired,  and 
locked  the  door  after  him. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

HOW   RUSSELL    HAS    AN    INTERVIEW    WITH    A    MERRY 
MONARCH. 

THAT  same  evening  Russell  was  aston 
ished  at  receiving  a  fairly  written  note, 
which  when  opened  contained  the  follow 
ing  in  English : 

"  The  King  will  le  graciously  pleased  to 
receive  Lord  Russell  this  evening  at  scven{ 
o'clock." 

It  was  written  on  simple  note-paper,  and 
bore  no  date.  The  messenger  who  brought 
it  handed  it  in,  and  departed  without  say 
ing  a  word. 

On  reading  this  note,  Russell  was  com 
pletely  bewildered.  Who,  he  thought,  is 
the  King  ?  Who  is  Lord  Russell  ?  A  pro 
longed  meditation  over  this  could  throw 


56 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


no  particular  light  upon  it,  and  at  length 
he  was  forced  to  conclude  that  he  himself 
was  taken  for  Lord  John  Russell,  that  fa 
mous  English  statesman  whose  name  is 
known  over  the  civilized  world.  It  was  a 
mistake,  yet,  as  he  complacently  thought, 
not,  after  all,  an  unnatural  one.  By  long 
familiarity  with  the  British  aristocracy  (in 
the  capacity  of  tailor)  he  had  perhaps  uncon 
sciously  their  lofty  sentiments  and  caught 
up  their  aristocratic  tone  and  bearing.  In 
person  he  felt  that  he  had  rather  the  ad 
vantage  of  Lord  John.  His  name  had,  of 
course,  something  to  do  with  the  mistake. 
All  these  things  had  combined  to  give  his 
captors  the  impression  that  he  was  a  Brit 
ish  peer. 

But  who  was  "  the  King  ?"  The  Queen 
of  Spain  would  be  the  ex-Queen ;  the  last 
King  of  Spain  was  now  the  ex-King  Aina- 
deus ;  but  "  the  King  " — who  was  he  ?  At 
length  it  flashed  upon  Russell  that  "  the 
King"  could  mean  no  other  than  the  cele 
brated  personage  who  claimed  for  himself 
that  title,  and  who  was  known  to  the  world 
as  Don  Carlos.  This,  then,  was  the  illustri 
ous  personage  with  whom  he  was  shortly 
to  have  an  interview. 

It  must  be  confessed  that,  in  spite  of  his 
long  association  with  the  British  aristocra 
cy,  the  bosom  of  the  valiant  Russell  heaved 
with  strange  emotions,  and  his  heart  quaked 
with  unusual  throes,  at  the  prospect  of  this 
interview.  As  his  host  claimed  to  be 
"  King,"  he  would  naturally  expect  to  be 
treated  as  such.  But  how  would  that  be  ? 
Of  the  etiquette  of  courts  Russell  had  no 
knowledge  whatever.  From  French  novels 
which  he  had  read  he  had  a  vague  idea 
that  people  said  "  Sire  "  when  addressing 
majesty,  and  got  on  their  knees  to  kiss  roy 
al  hands  when  first  introduced.  But  far 
ther  than  this  our  good  Russell's  knowl 
edge  did  not  lead  him,  nor  was  his  imagi 
nation  able  to  convey  him.  He  could  only 
conjecture  in  the  vaguest  possible  way,  and 
wait  as  patiently  as  possible  for  the  hour 
of  the  momentous  interview. 

The  appointed  time  arrived.  He  was 
waited  on  by  six  men:  all  were  armed. 
Russell  felt  an  involuntary  trepidation  at 
this  sight,  which  reminded  him  of  events, 
in  his  reading,  where  armed  men  came  in 
this  way  to  lead  some  wretched  prisoner 
off  to  execution.  However,  he  succeeded 
in  plucking  up  his  courage  sufficiently  to 
follow  them.  His  own  attire,  certainly,  did 
not  a  little  toward  inspiring  him  with  for 


titude,  and  the  brilliant  uniform  of  a  gen 
eral  officer  with  golden  epaulettes,  gold 
stripes,  gold  buttons,  gold  lace,  gold  hat 
band,  gold  collar,  gorgeous  hat,  resplendent 
feathers,  and  rattling,  clanking  sword,  all 
served  to  stimulate  him  and  rouse  him  to 
the  heroic  mood. 

He  was  led  by  the  men  to  the  grand  hall 
in  which  he  had  been  before.  Here,  around 
the  sides,  were  gathered  a  large  number  of 
men,  all  armed,  and,  though  ill-dressed,  still 
presenting  a  very  impressive  appearance. 
In  the  middle  of  the  hall  was  a  table  on 
which  a  dinner  was  spread.  All  around  a 
hundred  torches  flared  and  flamed,  and 
from  them  vast  clouds  of  pitchy  smoke  roll 
ed  aloft  into  the  vaulted  ceiling.  At  one 
end  there  was  a  raised  seat,  and  on  that 
raised  seat  there  was  a  figure  clothed  in  a 
military  garb  and  infolded  in  a  military 
cloak.  Toward  this  figure  Russell  was  led. 

Now,  Russell  was  so  overawed  by  the 
wild  scene,  by  the  armed  men,  and,  above 
all,  by  the  thought  of  the  royal  presence  and 
the  royal  eye,  that  he  dared  not  look  up, 
but  kept  his  eyes  humbly  on  the  floor,  and 
in  this  way  advanced.  On  reaching  the 
aforesaid  figure  our  Russell  fell  upon  his 
knees,  and  seizing  the  hand  of  said  figure, 
proceeded  to  kiss  it  with  much  vigor,  when 
suddenly  a  familiar  voice  sounded  in  his 
ears,  and  looking  up,  he  felt  like  LallaRookh 
at  the  discovery  of  Feramorz,  for  he  found 
that  this  royal  personage  was  none  other 
than  the  Carlist  chief. 

"Rise,  me  lord,"  said  the  well-known 
voice.  "  We  are  glad  to  rccay ve  ye  in  our 
r'y'l  prisince.  We  cud  give  ye  betther  inter- 
tainmint  in  our  r'y'l  palace  av  the  Escurial, 
only  thim  thayves  av  rebels  won't  let  us. 
But  we  can  maintain  our  state  here  in  these 
sayquesthered  mountains,  an\  begorra,  we 
have  a  throne  in  the  hearts  av  a  bowld  pis- 
intry." 

By  this  time  Russell  had  risen  to  his 
feet,  and  stood  there  bowing  over  and  over 
again. 

"His  Majesty"  rose. 

"  I'm  not  overfond,"  said  he,  "  me  lord, 
av  state  etiquette,  though  our  ancistors  were 
divils  av  fellers  at  it.  What  I  loike  is 
a  good  dinner,  an'  a  glass  av  somethin' 
warrum,  an'  a  pipe  afther  all.  Ye've  heard 
the  owld  song: 

" '  Oh,  n  taste  av  salt  an'  a  plate  av  praties, 
An  a  clhrop  av  whiskey  to  wash  thim  down, 
An'  a  tasty  dhuidheen  to  help  digistion — 
That's  the  fashion  in  Limerick  town.'  " 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


57 


It  had  already  caused  some  surprise  to 
Russell  that  a  Spanish  chieftain  should 
speak  English  with  the  Irish  accent ;  but 
now  to  find  one  who  claimed  to  be  the 
King  of  Spain  lightly  trolling  an  Irish  dit 
ty  to  a  rollicking  tune  was,  to  say  the  least, 
just  a  little  unusual.  It  occurred  to  him, 
however,  that  "  His  Majesty  "  must  have 
learned  his  English  from  an  Irishman ;  and 
further  thought  showed  him  that  such  a 
fact  was  perfectly  natural,  since,  being  a 
Catholic,  he  had  of  course  employed  a  Cath 
olic  tutor,  who  wTas  almost  certain  to  be  an 
Irishman.  Which  conclusion  led  to  anoth 
er,  namely,  that  the  Catholic  princes  and 
nobles  of  Europe,  including  the  Pope  him 
self  and  the  College  of  Cardinals,  if  they 
speak  English  at  all,  speak  it  with  more  or 
less  of  an  Irish  brogue. 

"  His  Majesty  "  now  led  the  way  to  the 
table,  inviting  Russell  to  follow.  There 
Russell  beheld  a  tempting  repast,  whose 
savory  steam  penetrated  through  his  nos 
trils  to  that  heart  of  hearts — that  corcordium 
which  lieth  behind  all  sense,  filling  it  with 
wild  longings.  He  saw  roast  capons,  ob 
tained  from  Heaven  knows  where ;  rich 
odoriferous  olla  podrida,  and  various  kinds 
of  game.  There  was  aromatic  coffee ;  there 
were  steaming  meat -pies,  in  which  was 
perceptible  the  scent  of  truffles;  while 
modestly,  yet  all-pervadingly,  like  the  per 
fume  of  mignonette  in  a  garden  of  a  thou 
sand  flowers,  or  like  the  influence  of  one 
good  man  in  a  community  of  worldlings,  or 
like  the  song  of  the  poet  in  a  hard,  prosaic 
age,  there  was  wafted  to  his  senses  the 
steam  of  fat  upland  mushrooms. 

These  two  had  that  banquet  all  to  them 
selves — namely, "  His  Majesty  "  and  uLord  " 
Russell. 

"Me  lord,"  said  "His  Majesty,"  "is  any 
thing  wanting?  Tell  us.  Yer  wish  shall 
be  gratified.  Does  ye  wish  for  music  ?  A 
piper  an'  a  fiddler  too  are  both  convaynient, 
an',  begorra,  thim  fellers  can  bate  out-an'-out 
all  the  pipers  an'  fiddlers  this  side  av  the 
Bay  av  Biscay.  They're  both  Irishmen,  so 
they  are,  an'  they're  our  sworn  body-gyard, 
an'  there  ye  have  it.  But,  man,  ye're  not 
clhrinkin'.  What  '11  ye  have  ?  Here's  port 
from  Oporto — pure — none  av  yer  vile  Sax 
on  compounds ;  likewise  here's  sherry  from 
Xeres.  Here's  marsala  an'  maraschino. 
Here's  champagne  an'  cognac.  Here's  also 
whiskey.  What  d'ye  say,  me  lord  ?  Is  it 
whiskey  ?  Divil  a  doubt !  I  knowed  it 
— begorra,  I  knowed  it  by  the  twinkle  av 


yer  eye.  Thrust  to  me  for  fmdin'  that  out ; 
sure  it's  meself  that  can  tell  a  conjaynial 
spirit,  so  it  is." 

Hereupon  "  His  Majesty  "  began  to  brew 
a  tumbler  of  toddy.  Russell,  who  was  an 
experienced  hand,  gazed  upon  the  royal 
proceedings  with  a  critical  eye,  but  found 
nothing  wanting.  The  royal  hand  was  as 
experienced  as  his  own.  The  drink  that 
resulted  was  equal,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  to 
anything  that  had  ever  touched  his  palate. 
He  tasted,  and  felt  like  a  new  man.  He 
tasted  again,  and  all  his  sorrows  vanished. 
He  tasted  for  a  third  time,  and  there  came 
over  him  a  feeling  of  peace,  and  content, 
and  brotherly  love  to  all  mankind. 

"His  Majesty"  had  also  been  tasting, 
and  with  every  taste  the  royal  mind  seem 
ed  to  assume  a  new  phase. 

"In  our  coort,"  said  "His  Majesty,"  "as 
at  prisint  constichooted,  we  cannot  offer  the 
injuicemints  that  are  held  forth  at  Vienna, 
Berlin,  an'  St.  Paytersburg ;  but  we  can 
furnish  some  lads  that  can  bate  the  wor- 
ruld.  I'd  like  to  howld  a  coort  an'  have 
the  ladies.  We'd  have  a  ball.  Oh,  but  it's 
meself  that's  fond  av  dancin'.  Do  ye  dance, 
me  lord  ?  Sure  but  there's  nothin'  in  life 
like  it !  An'  more's  the  pity  that  I  can't 
get  here  the  craim  av  our  Spanish  aristoc 
racy.  But  we're  too  far  away  entirely.  As 
for  dancin' — begorra,  I've  seen  dancin'  in 
my  time  that  'ud  take  yer  head  off! 

"  '  Oh,  it  bates  all  the  illigant  clancin' 

That  iver  was  danced  at  a  ball, 
Whin  Teddy  came  out  to  the  crowd, 

An'  danced  upon  nothin'  at  all — 
Wid  a  himpin  cravat  round  his  neck 

That  the  hangman  had  fixed  on  his  head; 
An1  so  he  kept  kickin'  an'  prancin' 
Long  afther  he  ought  to  be  dead. 

Whoor-ooo-oon  I'" 

As  "His  Majesty"  trolled  out  this,  Rus 
sell  could  not  help  feeling  that  it  was  de 
cidedly  out  of  accord  with  his  royal  char 
acter,  and  ventured  even  to  hint  as  much. 
Upon  this  tears  started  into  the  royal  eye. 
"  His  Majesty  "  took  Russell's  hand,  telling 
him,  with  deep  emotion,  that  he  was  a  true 
friend,  and  that  he  would  strive  to  profit 
by  his  friendship. 

"An'  oh,  ye  thafe  of  the  worruld,"  con 
tinued  "  His  Majesty,"  suddenly  changing 
the  conversation,  "ye've  played  the  mis 
chief  wid  thim  bonds.  Where  have  ye  hid 
thim,  ye  rogue  ?  But  uiver  mind.  I'll  be 
ayvin  wid  ye  yit.  How  much  are  they? 
Thirty  thousand  pounds!  Begorra,  I'll 
give  ye  that  amount  for  thim.  I'd  like  to 


58 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


take  up  thim  bonds  for  the  credit  av  our 
monarchy  an'  our  kingdom.  I'll  tell  ye 
what  I'll  do.  I'll  give  ye  an  ordher  on  our 
lord  high  treasurer  for  the  whole  amount 
in  cash  !  That's  what  I'll  do,  so  I  will. 
Ye  naydn't  give  yerself  any  more  throuble. 
I'll  give  ye  the  hard  cash  through  the  lord 
high  treasurer — that's  me  way.  I'll  do  it !" 

"  His  Majesty  "  here  mixed  another  glass 
of  toddy.  After  a  few  draughts  he  assumed 
a  more  dignified  attitude. 

"Me  lord," said  he,  "  I  should  like  to  ask 
ye  now,  quite  infarrumally,  what  there  is 
to  prayvint  a  raycognition  by  your  govern- 
inint  av  our  claims  an'  our  rights.  We  are 
winniir  our  way  back  to  the  throne  an' 
crown  av  our  ancistors.  A  lawless  mob 
howlds  our  capital,  but  they'll  be  kicked 
out  afore  a  month  av  Sundays.  I  should 
like  to  make  a  frindly  agraymint  through 
you,  me  lord,  wid  your  government.  Whin 
I  git  to  be  king,  I  agray  to  cling  to  an  alli 
ance  offinsive  an'  dayfinsive  wid  your  gov- 
ernmint.  There's  one  common  inimy,  the 
raypublic  av  America,  an'  it's  ayqually  hos 
tile  to  both  av  us.  We,  as  sole  repraysint- 
ative  av  Conservatism  an'  the  owld  proi- 
mayval  order,  will  ally  ourselves  wid  you 
agin  the  common  inimy  for  paice  an'  for 
war.  What  do  ye  say  to  that  ?  Begorra, 
it's  a  fine  offer  intoirely !  Ye'll  not  find 
another  livin'  potentate  that  '11  make  it. 
Bismarck  won't.  M'Mahon  —  Irishman 
though  he  is  —  won't.  The  Czar  won't. 
Franz  Joseph  won't.  So  there's  only  us. 
If  ye  don't  accept  our  proposals  we'll  go 
over  to  the  inimy.  We'll  buy  President 
Grant.  We'll  make  a  dayscint  on  Ireland. 
I  know  a  man  that  'ud  be  proud  to  take 
command  av  the  invadin'  armies.  His 
name's  O'Toole,  that's  now  in  the  Carlist 
camp,  an'  a  divil  av  a  feller  he  is.  He'd 
sweep  Ireland  from  one  ind  av  it  to  the 
other.  Give  me  O'Toole,  says  I,  an'  I'll  bate 
the  worruld  in  arrums,  says  I.  Begorra,  I 
would.  An'  now  fill  yer  glass,  me  boy." 

"  His  Majesty "  mixed  another  tumbler 
for  Russell. 

"  Drink,  me  lord,"  said  he,  "  to  the  fairest 
av  the  fair." 

And  Vith  these  words  he  swallowed  an 
other  tumblerful,  while  Russell  did  the  same. 

"  By  '  the  fairest  av  the  fair,'  "  explained 
"  His  Majesty,"  as  he  proceeded  to  mix  an 
other  drink,  "I  mean  yer  daughter — the 
pairless  Lady  Katie." 

"  My  ward, 4  Your  Majesty,'  "  said  Russell, 
correcting  him. 


"All  the  same,  me  lord,"  said  "His  Maj 
esty  ;"  "  it  was  a  slip  av  the  tongue.  It  was 
me  heart  that  spoke.  Listen  to  me  now. 
I've  somethin'  to  tell  ye.  It's  a  proposal." 

"  His  Majesty  "  paused  for  a  moment,  then 
took  a  fresh  drink,  then  laid  down  the  glass, 
then  sighed  heavily,  and  then  took  another 
drink. 

"  Me  lord,"  said  he,  in  a  solemn  tone,  "  ye 
know,  no  doubt,  that  we  are  a  bachelor. 
Ye  don't  know  it  ?  Well,  we  are.  I  say, 
we  are  a  bachelor.  We've  been  lookin'  all 
around  for  ages  afther  a  partner — a  r'y'l 
consort.  All  the  iligible  faymales  av  all  the 
coorts  av  Europe  have  been  solicitin'  our 
alliance.  But  none  av  thim  wor  shuitable. 
No.  Without  love,  we  won't  marry — we 
won't  adopt  the  infernal  system  av  state 
marriages.  Where  our  heart  isn't  concern 
ed  our  r'y'l  hand  don't  go — not  a  bit  av  it. 
Now,  we  niver  saw  the  woman  yet  that 
we'd  be  willin'  to  raise  to  the  throne  av 
Spain  ontil  we  saw  yer  ward— the  lovely, 
the  charrumin,  the  baywitchin'  Lady  Ka 
tie.  Nay,  me  lord,  start  not,  an'  don't  sus 
pect  us  av  onjue  praycipitation.  We  haven't 
addhressed  the  Lady  Katie  yet  on  that  point. 
We've  acted  in  accardence  wid  r'y'l  usage, 
an'  now  make  a  farrumal  offer  av  our  alli 
ance  to  the  parents  an'  gyarjians  av  the 
lovely  being.  What  do  ye  say,  me  lord? 
Will  ye  give  yer  consint  to  our  proposal, 
an'  allow  yer  ward  to  become  the  Quane 
av  Spain  ?" 

At  this  Russell  was  quite  overwhelmed. 
He  had  listened  with  open  mouth  to  this 
last  address  of"  His  Majesty,"  and  at  length, 
when  it  all  culminated  in  this  direct  and 
unmistakable  proposal,  he  was  so  astound 
ed  that  he  didn't  know  what  to  say.  He 
therefore  sat  silent  and  staring  with  open 
mouth,  until  at  length,  not  knowing  any 
thing  better  to  do,  he  mechanically  raised 
the  tumbler  of  toddy  and  poured  the  whole 
of  it  into  that  open  mouth. 

"That's  right!"  exclaimed  "His  Majes 
ty,"  heartily,  and  lie  at  once  began  to  re 
plenish  the  empty  glasses ;  "  an'  mind  you, 
me  boy,  it's  as  much  for  your  intherest,  me 
lord,  as  it  is  for  hers.  It's  a  great  thing  for 
a  young  gyerrel  to  become  the  Quane  av 
Spain ;  an'  as  for  yerself,  why,  av  coorse 
there's  no  ind  to  the  honors  an'  dignities 
an'  lucrative  offices  that  ye'd  be  afther  get- 
tin'  howld  av.  Ye'd  be  a  kind  av  father- 
in-law  to  the  Quane.  Ye'd  be  made  Min- 
isther  av  War  or  any  thin'  else  ye  axed  for. 
Ye'd  be  made  a  Juke  av  Gibraltar  an'  Prince 


"RUSSELL  FELL  UPON  HIS  KNEES.' 


-! ) 


THESE    TWO    HAD    THAT    BANQUET    ALL    TO    THEMSELVES." 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


59 


av  the  Pyrenees.  Ye'd  belong  to  the  Privy 
Council.  Ye'd  be  the  chief  adviser  av  our 
r'y'l  Majesty — that's  me,  ye  know;  an'  av 
coorse  it  isn't  every  day  that  ye  have  such 
a  chance  as  that." 

"His  Majesty"  paused  for  a  reply. 

Russell  stared  fixedly  before  him  into 
vacancy,  but  uttered  not  a  word.  Either 
the  high  honor  that  had  been  proposed,  or 
the  brilliant  future  that  had  been  laid  open, 
or  else  the  whiskey  toddy,  or  all  three  com 
bined,  had  overcome  him  utterly ;  and  so 
he  sat  there  staring  and  silent. 

"  Sure,  I  know  what  yer  thinkin'  about," 
said  "  His  Majesty."  "  There's  only  one  ob 
jection,  an'  that's  religion.  But  that's  noth- 
in',"  he  continued,  with  airy  and  pagan  in 
difference;  "we  can  arrange  all  that  aisy 
enough.  Love's  stronger  than  religion  any 
day.  Ye  know  the  owld  song." 

And  "His  Majesty"  trolled  out  one  of 
his  peculiar  melodies : 

"  There  was  a  Ballyshnnnon  spinster 
That  fell  in  love  wid  a  Prodes'an'  min'ster ; 
But  the  praste  refused  to  publish  the  banns, 
So  they  both  ran  away  to  the  Mussulmans." 

After  this  "His  Majesty"  went  on  in  a 
rapturous  way  to  expatiate  upon  the  subject 
of  Katie,  and  in  this  way  the  remainder  of 
the  evening  was  taken  up.  Russell  said 
but  little :  what  he  said  was  chiefly  an  in 
coherent  jumble  which  expressed  with  tears 
of  gratitude  a  full  acceptance  of  "His  Maj 
esty's"  offer.  At  the  same  time  he  was 
able  to  point  out  that  in  England  it  was 
the  fashion  to  consult  the  lady  herself,  and 
to  insist  that  "  His  Majesty"  should  see  Ka 
tie  herself,  so  as  to  get  her  consent. 

And  this  "His  Majesty"  swore  that  he 
would  do. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

HOW  HARRY  FINDS  HIMSELF  VERY  MUCH  OVER 
ESTIMATED,  AND  AFTERWARD  LIGHTS  UPON  A 
GLOOMY  MYSTERY. 

ON  the  day  after  the  departure  of  Rus 
sell,  Harry  was  invited  to  an  interview  with 
the  chief.  A  guard  of  six  Carlists  escorted 
him  to  the  hall.  Here  there  was  an  impos 
ing  scene.  All  along  the  walls  were  lines 
of  armed  men  in  strange  wild  costumes ; 
overhead  rose  the  vaulted  roof,  crusted  over 
with  the  mould  of  ages ;  while  at  one  end 
there  hung  a  canopy  formed  of  the  gorgeous 
banner  of  Castile.  Under  this  stood  a  fig 


ure  in  the  uniform  of  a  general  officer,  and 
as  Harry  drew  near  he  recognized  in  him 
the  Carlist  chief.  At  the  same  moment  a 
shout  rang  through  the  hall,  a  hundred 
rifles  fell  with  a  crash  upon  the  stony  pave 
ment,  and  then  followed  a  loud,  long  cry, 
"VivaelRey!" 

Harry's  familiarity  with  Spanish  had  al 
ready  been  made  known  to  the  chief,  who 
now  addressed  him  in  that  language.  What, 
however,  was  the  amazement  of  Harry  at 
learning  the  astounding  fact  that  the  chief 
claimed  to  be  no  less  a  person  than  Don 
Carlos  himself,  and  assumed  the  airs  and 
claimed  the  honors  of  royalty.  In  addition 
to  this,  while  the  chief  claimed  such  honors, 
his  rude  followers  bestowed  them  with 
readiness  and  even  enthusiasm.  That  this 
could  be  anything  else  than  a  pretence — 
that  this  rude  chief  could  really  be  the 
courtly  and  gallant  Bourbon  seemed  to 
Harry  an  utter  absurdity ;  and  in  addition 
to  this,  the  descriptions  which  he  had  heard 
of  the  real  Don  Carlos  did  not  at  all  accord 
with  the  appearance  of  this  man.  Yet,  if 
the  claim  was  a  false  one,  its  very  audacity 
showed  him  the  possible  peril  that  sur 
rounded  his  party ;  for  if  their  captor  was 
so  unblushing  and  unscrupulous  a  villain, 
what  hope  could  they  have  of  escape  ? 

Speaking  then  in  this  way  as  though  he 
were  Don  Carlos,  and  assuming  at  the  same 
time  the  manner  and  style  of  a  king,  the 
Carlist  chief  said  much  about  his  sorrow  at 
being  forced  to  detain  them,  and  also  ex 
patiated  upon  the  difficulties  of  his  own 
position.  Finally,  he  informed  Harry  that 
a  tax  had  been  imposed  on  all  foreigners 
to  help  pay  the  expenses  of  the  war. 

To  this  Harry  listened  attentively,  and 
was  not  surprised  to  find  that  the  chief  ex 
pected  a  money  payment.  Whether  he 
called  it  a  tax  or  any  other  name,  it  amount 
ed  to  the  same  thing,  and  became  a  ran 
som  for  their  lives.  If  he  and  his  party 
were  thus  held  as  prisoners  to  ransom,  the 
act  amounted,  of  course,  to  nothing  else 
than  brigandage,  and  this  Carlist  chief  was 
nothing  better  than  a  brigand.  Against 
being  seized  and  held  as  a  prisoner  on  such 
terms  Harry  could  have  offered  no  end  of 
arguments,  of  course,  together  with  pro 
tests,  objections,  and  threats;  but  he  had 
far  too  clear  a  head  to  think  of  such  a 
thing.  He  knew  well  the  uselessness  of 
mere  arguments  in  a  case  like  this,  where 
he  had  nothing  stronger  behind,  and  there 
fore  he  sought  to  find  out  just  what  his  po- 


CO 


A  CASTLE  IX  SPAIN. 


sition  was.     So,  first  of  all,  lie  asked  what 
might  be  the  amount  of  his  own  ransom. 

The  answer  to  this  question  almost  took 
his  breath  away.  To  his  amazement  and 
horror,  the  ransom  named  for  him  wras  no 
less  a  sum  than  ten  thousand  pounds. 

"  Will  '  Your  Majesty '  pardon  me,"  said 
Harry,  with  great  obsequiousness,  and  giv 
ing  to  his  captor  the  royal  honors  which  he 
claimed — "  will  *  Your  Majesty '  pardon  me 
if  I  assure  '  Your  Majesty  '  that  the  amount 
of  my  ransom  is  so  enormous  that  it  is  ut 
terly  impossible  for  me  to  pay  it  ?" 

At  this  "His  Majesty"  smiled,  and  pro 
ceeded  to  tell  Harry  the  ransoms  fixed  for 
the  others :  these  were— for  Russell  and  his 
party  thirty  thousand  pounds,  and  for  Ash- 
by  one  thousand.  The  name  "  Lord  Rus 
sell"  which  "His  Majesty"  applied  to  that 
worthy  sounded  strange  to  Harry,  but  this 
was  a  trifle  compared  with  other  things, 
and  so,  without  making  any  reference  to 
this,  he  replied : 

"  Thirty  thousand  pounds!  I  assure  'Your 
Majesty'  that  Russell  has  not  the  fourth 
part  of  that  in  all  the  world." 

"  His  Majesty  "  looked  incredulous,  and 
told  Harry  that  "  Lord  Russell "  had  him 
self  put  his  own  wealth  at  two  hundred 
thousand,  and  that  of  his  ward  at  fifty 
thousand. 

At  this  Harry's  heart  quaked  within  him 
for  fear  of  Katie.  Now  he  began  to  see 
more  clearly  the  danger  that  there  was. 
Russell,  he  thought,  had  been  indulging  in 
some  foolish  gasconade  about  himself,  and 
had  let  out  the  secret  of  Katie's  fortune. 
He  wondered  why  Ashby  had  been  let  oif 
on  so  small  a  sum;  and  thinking  that  he 
might  not  have  heard  correctly,  he  asked 
again  about  this.  The  reply  confirmed 
what  he  had  heard,  and  Harry  could  not 
help  making  a  remark  about  the  strange 
injustice  of  exacting  ten  thousand  from  him 
and  only  one  thousand  from  Ashby.  This 
at  once  was  noticed  by  "  His  Majesty,"  who, 
however,  proposed,  not  to  lessen  the  ran 
som  of  Harry,  but  to  raise  that  of  Ashby. 
He  eagerly  asked  Harry  about  the  wealth 
of  his  friend. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Harry,  who 
saw  that  it  would  not  help  himself  to  have 
Ashby's  ransom  raised.  "  All  I  do  know  is 
this,  which  I  assure  '  Your  Majesty'  is  truth, 
that  to  me  a  ransom  of  ten  thousand 
pounds  is  an  impossible  sum,  and  means 
simply  death." 

"  His  Majesty  "  smiled,  assenting  at  the 


same  time  to  the  statement  that  non-pay 
ment  was  equivalent  to  death. 

"In  that  case,"  said  Harry,  "may  I  ask 
one  favor  ?" 

"His  Majesty"  graciously  assented. 

"  I  should  like,"  said  Harry, "  to  have  my 
valise.  There's  nothing  in  it  that  I  care 
about  except  some  cigars — " 

"His  Majesty"  interrupted  with  a  wave 
of  the  royal  hand,  and  granted  his  request. 
After  this  Harry  was  informed  that  one 
week  was  allowed  for  time  in  which  to  pro- 
nre  the  ransom,  and  that  if  it  were  not 
forth-coming  at  the  end  of  that  time,  he  and 
liis  friends  wyould  all  be  shot. 

After  this  Harry  was  dismissed  to  his 
own  apartment. 

The  dread  sentence  and  its  possible  re 
sult  interfered  neither  with  the  digestion 
nor  the  sleep  of  the  light-hearted  Harry. 
That  night  he  went  to  bed  and  slept  the 
sleep  of  the  just.  He  had  the  bed  and  the 
room  now  all  to  himself,  and  would  have 
slept  till  morning  had  he  not  been  roused 
by  a  very  singular  circumstance. 

As  he  lay  sleeping,  it  seemed  to  him  that 
there  was  a  touch  on  his  forehead  of  some 
thing  like  a  hand,  and  a  murmur  in  his  ear 
of  something  like  a  voice,  and,  what  is  more, 
a  woman's  voice.  In  a  moment  he  was  wide 
awake,  and  had  started  up  and  was  staring 
around.  The  moonbeams  streamed  through 
the  narrow  windows  into  the  room  and  fell 
in  broad  strips  of  light  upon  the  stony  floor, 
diffusing  a  mild  and  mellow  lustre  in  some 
parts,  yet  leaving  the  rest  of  the  great  room 
in  obscurity.  And  here,  across  those  strips 
of  light  and  through  those  moonbeams, 
Harry  plainly  discerned  a  figure  which  was 
gliding  swiftly  along.  It  was  a  female 
figure,  and  it  was  light  and  fragile,  while 
long  dusky  drapery  floated  around  it.  So 
completely  overwhelmed  was  Harry  with 
amazement  and  bewilderment  at  this  sight, 
that  for  fall  five  minutes  he  sat  without 
moving  and  stared  full  before  him.  Then 
he  put  his  feet  out  on  the  floor,  and,  sitting 
on  the  side  of  the  bed,  slowly  ejaculated : 

"  Well,  by  Jove  !" 

Suddenly  he  started  up  and  sprang  to 
ward  the  place  where  he  had  last  seen  the 
vision.  But  now  there  wras  nothing  visi 
ble  :  the  figure,  whatever  it  was,  had  disap 
peared.  Now,  Harry  had  a  strong,  robust, 
healthy  nature,  a  good  digestion,  tough 
nerves,  and  he  was  not  in  the  least  super 
stitious  ;  yet  this  event  certainly  made  him 
feel  as  he  had  never  felt  before.  It  was 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


61 


the  suddenness  of  it,  as  well  as  the  incom 
prehensibility.  He  had  to  assure  himself 
over  and  over  again  that  he  was  really 
awake,  and  then  he  had  to  repeatedly  re 
call  the  vague  and  indistinct  impressions 
that  had  been  made. 

It  was  certainly  most  puzzling.  How 
had  any  one  contrived  to  enter  ?  And  why 
should  a  woman  come  ?  Was  it  a  woman, 
then — that  figure— with  its  noiseless  mo 
tion,  its  strange  fragility,  its  flowing,  float 
ing,  cloud-like  draperies  ?  Or  was  it  some 
affection  of  his  own  disordered  senses  that 
had  wrought  out  an  apparition  from  his 
own  fancy?  It  reminded  him  of  those 
weird  and  grisly  scenes  in  the  old  ro 
mances  which  he  had  read  in  his  boyhood, 
such  as  the  "  Mysteries  of  Udolpho,"  the 
"  Romance  of  the  Forest,"  or  the  "  Castle 
of  Otranto."  This  castle  might  well  be  the 
scene  of  such  a  mystery.  Perhaps  the  late 
incident  was  the  revival  of  some  dormant 
memory,  arising  out  of  that  half-forgotten 
reading  in  the  old  romances.  It  may  have 
been  a  dream,  projecting  itself  forward  into 
his  waking  hours. 

In  this  way  Harry  puzzled  his  brain  for 
some  time,  sitting  on  the  side  of  the  bed, 
mystified,  and  quite  at  a  loss  what  to  do. 
But,  as  he  was  essentially  a  man  of  action, 
he  soon  grew  weary  of  idle  speculation, 
and  determined  to  search  more  actively 
into  the  mystery,  and  if  possible  sift  it  to 
the  bottom.  So  he  drew  a  match  and  light 
ed  his  torch.  The  flame  flared  up  brightly 
and  flung  a  lurid  glow  all  around.  Hold 
ing  this  high  above  his  head,  Harry  walked 
about,  peering  into  the  darkness,  and  scan 
ning  every  nook  and  corner  of  the  large 
apartment.  But  he  could  see  nothing.  It 
was  empty.  The  shuffling  noise  of  his  own 
footsteps  as  he  moved  along  was  the  only 
sound,  and  no  living  thing  met  his  eye.  It 
was  plain  that  he  was  alone,  and  that  no 
other  could  be  there  with  him. 

But  that  figure  ?  Where  was  it?  Whith 
er  had  it  gone  ?  Going  back  again  to  the 
bed,  he  marked  the  line  of  its  motion,  and 
perceived  that  it  had  been  directed  toward 
the  great  fireplace :  at  that  spot  it  had  faded 
away  from  his  view.  What  had  been  the 
cause  of  this  ? 

Back  again  he  went  to  the  great  fire 
place  and  examined  it  carefully.  The  very 
reading  of  the  old  romances  to  which  he 
had  attributed  this  apparition  now  served 
to  give  him  a  valuable  suggestion  ;  for,  ac 
cording  to  those  important  writings,  wher 


ever  there  is  a  ghost  there  is  also  a  myste 
rious  subterranean  passage,  or  secret  cham 
ber,  or  concealed  door.  It  was  for  this  that 
Harry  now  searched,  to  see  if  any  of  the 
machinery  of  the  castle  of  Udolpho  might 
be  found  existing  in  a  castle  in  Spain. 

He  looked  all  over  the  floor,  but  found 
nothing.  He  examined  the  back  and  the 
sides  of  the  fireplace,  but  nothing  was  visi 
ble  save  the  stony  surface,  which  every 
where  had  the  same  massive  exterior.  At 
length  his  attention  was  arrested  by  those 
stones  already  mentioned  which  projected 
one  above  the  other  from  the  side  of  the 
chimney.  At  first  it  seemed  to  him  as 
though  they  might  be  movable,  for  he 
was  on  the  lookout  for  movable  stones  or 
secret  doors,  which  might  slide  away  in 
the  "  Udolpho  "  fashion  and  disclose  secret 
passages  or  hidden  chambers.  He  there 
fore  tried  each  of  these  in  various  ways, 
bat  found  them  all  alike,  fixed  and  immov 
able. 

But  now,  as  he  stood  trying  the  topmost 
stone,  with  his  torch  held  aloft,  the  glare 
of  the  light  shone  upon  the  sides  of  the 
chimney  and  disclosed  that  very  opening 
which  Russell  had  already  discovered.  At 
first  lie  thought  that  it  might  be  a  side 
flue,  or  a  ventilator,  or  a  contrivance  to 
help  the  draught;  but  immediately  after, 
the  thought  flashed  upon  him  that  the 
mysterious  figure  might  be  concealed  here. 

In  an  instant  he  began  to  clamber  up  the 
stones,  full  of  eager  excitement.  On  reach 
ing  the  top  he  found,  to  his  amazement, 
that  he  was  in  a  deep  niche  which  ran  into 
the  wall  several  feet,  and  was  high  enough 
for  him  to  stand  in.  Into  this  he  peered 
eagerly,  thinking  that  he  might  discover 
his  mysterious  visitant,  but  he  saw  noth 
ing.  But  as  he  thus  stood  gazing  into  the 
niche  with  sharpest  scrutiny,  he  saw  some 
thing  white  lying  on  the  floor  only  a  few 
feet  from  him.  He  stooped  forward  and 
picked  it  up.  It  was  a  parcel,  wrapped  up 
in  stiff  paper,  about  twelve  inches  long,  six 
wide,  and  one  in  thickness.  It  was  evi 
dently  a  collection  of  documents  of  some 
sort.  Full  of  wonder  at  this  strange  discov 
ery,  Harry  now  forgot  all  about  the  mys 
terious  apparition,  and  thought  no  more 
about  the  strangeness  of  the  place  where  he 
was.  He  was  only  eager  to  learn  the  con 
tents  of  the  package,  and  to  investigate 
them  without  being  seen.  Although  he 
did  not  believe  that  any  eye  could  behold 
him  in  that  dark  recess,  yet  he  felt  afraid, 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


nevertheless,  that  some  spy  might  be  lurk 
ing  near — some  one  like  his  late  visitant — 
and  therefore  he  descended  once  more  to 
the  room,  where  he  felt  safer.  Here,  after 
going  all  around,  and  peering  out  of  every 
window,  and  looking  also  and  listening  at 
the  door,  he  felt  satisfied  that  he  was  un 
observed.  He  now  went  into  a  corner  of 
the  room  at  the  head  of  the  bed  and  knelt 
down,  facing  the  corner  in  such  a  way  that 
lie  could  conceal  the  package  while  exam 
ining  it.  Here,  with  eager  hands,  he  tore  it 
open,  and  the  contents  lay  before  him. 

These  contents  consisted  of  a  number  of 
printed  documents,  all  folded  up  so  as  to 
be  of  uniform  size.  One  of  these  he  took 
up  and  opened.  It  was  in  Spanish,  with 
formidable  flourishing  signatures  and  im 
mense  seal.  One  glance  was  enough  to 
show  him  what  it  was.  It  was  a  bond,  in 
which  the  Spanish  Government  offered  to 
pay  one  thousand  pounds  English  sterling 
money  at  the  end  of  thirty  years,  to  the 
bearer ;  and  at  the  bottom  was  a  great  ar 
ray  of  coupons  for  semi-annual  interest  on 
the  above,  the  rate  of  interest  being  six  per 
cent.,  and  consequently  each  coupon  being 
for  thirty  pounds. 

A  great  light  now  flashed  in  upon  Har 
ry's  mind.  Hastily  he  counted  the  docu 
ments,  and  found  them  to  be  thirty  in  num 
ber.  The  amount  represented  was  there 
fore  thirty  thousand  pounds.  He  under 
stood  it  all.  This  was  Katie's  money,  of 
which  he  had  heard.  Russell  had  been  car 
rying  it  about  his  person,  as  lie  had  said, 
and  had  been  afraid  of  losing  it.  He  had 
refused  to  make  Harry  his  confidant  as  to 
his  intentions.  He  had  found  out  that 
niche  somehow,  and  had  hidden  there  the 
precious  package.  It  was  all  Katie's,  and 
had  now  by  a  strange  chance  fallen  into 
his  own  hands.  It  struck  Harry  as  at  once 
very  strange,  and  very  pleasant,  that  all  Ka 
tie's  fortune  should  thus  be  placed  in  his 
care,  and  that  he  had  thus  become  its  guar 
dian.  He  remembered  all  that  Ashby  had 
said  about  Russell's  designs  to  obtain  Ka 
tie's  money  for  himself;  and  although  he 
had  not  altogether  believed  Ashby,  still  he 
thought  that  the  money  was  all  the  safer 
from  being  out  of  Russell's  possession.  Rus 
sell  was  not  altogether  trustworthy,  while 
he  himself  would  be  loyal  in  this  trust,  and 
guard  it  with  his  heart's-blood. 

At  length  he  once  more  folded  up  the 
papers,  and  then,  as  he  held  the  package  in 
his  hands,  there  arose  the  great  and  impor 


tant  question — what  was  he  to  do  with  it  ? 
To  carry  it  about  on  his  person  was,  of 
course,  not  to  be  thought  of.  He  had  al 
ready  been  examined  once,  and  had  no 
security  that  he  would  not  be  examined 
again.  This  made  it  necessary  to  find 
some  place  where  they  might  be  conceal 
ed  until  it  should  be  safe  to  reclaim  them. 
As  for  concealment,  it  could  not  be  found 
in  the  room.  He  could  not  thrust  it  into 
the  straw  of  the  bed,  for  it  would  be  sure 
to  be  found.  Since  he  had  been  here  the 
bed  had  already  been  examined  twice. 
There  remained,  then,  only  the  chimney, 
and  to  this  place  he  once  more  directed 
his  steps  in  search  of  a  place  of  conceal 
ment. 

He  climbed  up  and  advanced  a  few  paces 
to  the  end  of  the  niche.  On  reaching  this 
he  found,  to  his  amazement,  that  it  was  not 
a  niche,  but  a  passage-way  which  ran  on 
for  so  long  a  distance  that,  as  he  peered 
down  into  it,  he  could  see  no  end.  This 
passage-way  served  also  to  lessen  the  mys 
tery  of  his  late  visitant.  He  now  thought 
that  this  visitant  had  been  one  of  the  Car- 
list  band,  who  had  come  in,  while  he  was 
asleep,  on  a  reconnoitring  expedition.  Yet, 
however  this  may  have  been,  it  did  not 
prevent  him  from  searching  for  a  place  of 
concealment  in  this  passage-way.  It  might 
not  be  a  good  place,  the  hidden  documents 
might  still  be  liable  to  discovery,  yet  it  was 
the  only  place,  and  so  there  was  no  choice 
in  the  matter. 

As  Harry  looked  along  this  passage-way 
he  came  to  a  huge  projecting  stone,  which 
seemed  as  though  it  had  been  dislodged 
in  some  way.  So  large  was  this  stone,  and 
so  peculiar  was  its  dislocation,  that  Harry 
could  only  think  of  an  earthquake  as  an 
adequate  cause.  It  was  about  eight  feet  in 
length  by  four  feet  in  height,  and  one  end 
jutted  forth,  while  the  other  end  was  sunk 
en  in,  behind  the  surface  of  the  wall,  in  a 
corresponding  manner.  At  the  end  where 
the  stone  jutted  out  there  was  a  crevice 
a  few  inches  in  width,  which  seemed  well 
adapted  for  a  place  of  concealment,  and 
upon  this  he  at  once  decided.  But  to  pre 
vent  the  possibility  of  discovery  it  was  nec 
essary  to  thrust  the  package  far  in,  while 
at  the  same  time  it  must  be  arranged  in 
such  a  way  that  it  could  be  drawn  forth 
i  again.  This  could  be  done  by  means  of 
the  string  with  which  it  was  bound  up. 
This  he  took  off,  and  tying  one  end  to  the 
package,  he  thrust  it  into  the  crevice  as  for 


"HE    STOOPED   FORWARD   AND   PICKED    IT    UP.' 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


G3 


as  he  could,  quite  out  of  sight,  leaving  the 
end  of  the  string  hanging  out  about  one 
inch,  in  such  a  way  that  it  was  discernible 
to  no  one  except  himself. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

IX  WHICH  HARRY  YIELDS  TO  AN  UNCONTROLLABLE 
IMPULSE,  AND  RISKS  HIS  LIFE  IN  A  DARING  AD 
VENTURE. 

HARRY  now  felt  perfectly  secure  about 
the  package.  It  seemed  to  him  to  be  safe 
ly  hidden,  beyond  all  possibility  of  discov 
ery  ;  for  who  could  ever  venture  into  this 
passage-way  ?  and  if  any  one  should,  how 
could  that  package  be  seen  ?  Still,  as  to 
any  one  venturing  here,  he  had  his  doubts. 
There  was  that  mysterious  visit.  What 
did  that  mean  ?  It  was  a  female  figure — 
a  woman  ;  young,  too,  light,  active.  Who 
could  it  have  been?  It  must  have  been 
some  one  familiar  with  the  castle.  He 
now  felt  convinced  that  this  figure  was  no 
apparition,  that  it  was  some  living  person, 
that  she  had  come  down  through  this  very 
passage-way,  and  had  entered  his  room, 
and  touched  him  and  whispered  to  him. 
So  much  was  clear. 

And  now  before  him.  lay  this  passage 
way.  He  was  resolved  to  explore  it  as  far 
as  possible,  so  as  to  unfold  the  mystery. 
But  who  was  this  visitor  ? — a  woman  !  Was 
she  friend  or  foe  ?  If  a  foe,  why  had  she 
come  ?  What  did  she  expect,  or  why  had 
she  spoken  so  gently  and  roused  him  so 
quietly  ?  If  a  friend,  why  had  she  fled  so 
hurriedly,  without  a  sign  or  word  ?  The 
more  he  thought  it  over,  the  more  he  felt 
convinced  that  his  visitor  had  made  a  mis 
take  ;  that  she  had  come  expecting  to  find 
some  one  else,  and  had  been  startled  at 
the  discovery  of  her  mistake.  Perhaps 
Mrs.  Russell  had  bribed  one  of  the  Carlist 
women  to  carry  a  message  to  her  husband. 
That  seemed  the  most  natural  way  of  ac 
counting  for  it. 

It  was  evident  to  Harry  that  this  pas 
sage-way  was  known,  and  was  used ;  that 
he  was  at  the  mercy  of  his  captor;  and 
that  Russell  had  made  a  great  blunder  in 
hiding  his  package  in  such  a  place.  But 
why  had  his  visitor  failed  to  discover  the 
package?  Perhaps  because  she  came  in 
the  dark.  That  would  account  for  it. 
She  could  not  have  seen  it ;  she  passed  by 
it  thus,  both  while  coming  and  going. 
5 


Nevertheless,  whether  this  passage  was 
known  and  used  by  others  or  not,  Harry 
could  not  help  feeling  that  its  discovery 
was  a  great  thing  for  him.  Perhaps  it 
might  lead  out  of  the  castle.  That  meant 
escape,  liberty,  life  !  It  meant  more.  Once 
outside,  he  felt  that  he  could  obtain  help 
from  some  quarter.  He  would  then  come 
back  with  a  force  which  would  be  suffi 
cient  to  capture  the  castle  and  free  his 
friends ;  or,  if  he  could  not  gather  a  large 
force,  he  might  find  at  least  a  small  band 
of  men  with  whom  he  could  steal  in 
through  this  secret  passage,  and  effect  the 
rescue  of  his  friends  in  that  way.  And  by 
"his  friends"  he  meant  Katie.  She,  at 
least,  could  be  rescued,  and  the  best  way 
would  be  to  rescue  her  at  the  outset  by 
carrying  her  off  with  him.  Such  were 
Harry's  hopes  and  intentions. 

In  entering  now  upon  this  exploration, 
Harry  felt  the  great  necessity  that  there 
was  of  caution ;  and  yet,  in  spite  of  this, 
the  torch  would  have  to  be  retained,  or 
else  any  farther  progress  would  be  impos 
sible.  To  crawl  along  in  the  dark  might 
be  safer,  but  it  would  effect  nothing,  and 
he  could  only  hope  that  his  torch -light 
would  not  be  observed.  Dangerous  or 
not,  he  must  retain  it;  and  besides,  he 
could  not  be  in  any  greater  peril  than  he 
had  already  been  in.  By  this  bold  move, 
he  had  everything  to  gain  and  nothing  to 
lose.  There  was,  however,  one  other  pre 
caution  which  he  would  have  to  take,  and 
that  was  to  make  as  little  noise  as  possible. 
His  heavy  boots  would  never  do,  and  the 
sound  might  pass  through  even  such  walls 
as  these.  Removing  these,  therefore,  he 
carried  them  under  one  arm,  and,  holding 
the  torch  in  his  unoccupied  hand,  he  ad 
vanced  along  the  passage. 

The  stones  were  cold  to  his  feet  as  he 
started  on  his  adventurous  way.  Slowly, 
cautiously,  stealthily,  he  moved  along. 
The  passage  was  about  six  feet  in  height 
and  two  feet  wide,  with  massive  stone-walls 
on  either  side.  By  its  direction,  it  seemed 
to  pass  through  the  wall  at  one  end  of  the 
great  hall,  past  the  place  where  the  stair 
way  ascended  from  below.  Along  this 
Harry  moved  noiselessly  and  watchfully, 
and  at  length  came  to  a  place  where  the 
passage-way  turned  at  right  angles,  just  as 
it  had  done  at  the  entrance.  Up  this  he 
walked,  and,  after  a  few  paces,  perceived 
an  abyss  before  him.  In  an  instant  he  un 
derstood  what  this  was.  It  was  another 


64 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


chimney  similar  to  the  one  in  his  room, 
from  which  the  passage-way  had  started, 
and  here  too,  doubtless,  there  was  a  room 
like  his  own. 

He  now  extinguished  the  torch,  which, 
together  with  the  boots,  he  put  down  on 
the  floor,  and  then,  lying  flat  down,  he 
thrust  his  head  over  the  opening  and  tried 
to  see  what  was  below.  There  was  a 
faint  light,  the  light  of  moonbeams,  which 
streamed  in  here  and  fell  upon  the  floor, 
just  as  in  his  own  room.  He  reached 
down  his  hand,  and  could  feel  that  here 
too  there  were  stepping-stones.  In  fact, 
there  were  two  rooms  connected  by  this 
passage-way,  and  in  all  probability  they 
were  exactly  similar.  But  who  were  in 
this  room  ?  The  men  had  been  taken  to 
one  side  of  the  great  hall,  the  women  to 
the  other.  Were  the  women  here  ?  Were 
they  by  themselves  ?  And  was  Katie  here  ? 
Would  it  be  possible  for  him  to  go  down 
so  as  to  try  to  communicate  with  any  of 
them?  It  was  certainly  hazardous.  A  dis 
covery  would  ruin  all.  It  would  be  better 
to  wait,  at  any  rate  to  watch  here  for  a 
while,  and  listen. 

As  he  watched  he  could  see  somewhat 
better,  for  his  eyes  grew  more  accustomed 
to  the  dim  light.  He  could  make  out  the 
stepping-stones,  and  the  chimney  floor,  and 
the  floor  of  the  room  for  about  one-third  of 
the  distance  from  the  chimney.  As  he  lay 
there  and  watched  and  listened,  there  came 
to  his  ears,  through  the  deep  stillness  of 
night,  the  sound  of  regular  breathing,  as  of 
sleepers,  together  with  an  occasional  sigh, 
as  of  some  one  in  a  troubled  dream.  They 
were  all  asleep,  then !  Who  ?  The  Carlists, 
or  the  women  attendants?  or  was  it  not 
rather  his  own  friends — and — Katie  ?  At 
this  thought  an  uncontrollable  desire  seized 
him  to  venture  down  and  see  for  himself. 
He  might  get  near  enough  to  see  for  him 
self.  He  could  strike  a  match,  take  one 
look,  and  then,  if  mistaken,  retreat.  Dared 
he  venture  ?  He  dared. 

He  raised  himself,  and  then  was  about 
to  put  one  foot  down  so  as  to  descend,  but 
at  that  very  moment,  as  he  stood  poised 
in  that  attitude,  he  heard  a  faint  shuffling 
sound  below.  He  stopped  and  looked 
down  cautiously.  There,  across  the  moon 
beams,  he  could  see  a  figure  moving ;  the 
very  same  figure  that  he  had  seen  moving 
across  the  moonbeams  in  his  own  room — 
the  same  slender,  slight,  fragile  figure,  with 
the  same  floating,  vaporous  drapery.  But 


now  he  did  not  feel  one  particle  of  wonder 
or  superstitious  awe.  He  understood  it  all. 
The  woman  who  had  visited  him  had  fled 
back  here,  and  was  now  about  to  return. 
What  should  he  do?  He  must  retreat. 
She  was  evidently  coming  in  his  direction. 
He  would  go  back  to  his  own  room,  and 
wait  and  watch  and  intercept  her.  As 
Harry  hesitated  the  woman  stopped  also, 
and  listened.  Then  she  advanced  again. 

Upon  this  Harry  retreated,  taking  his 
boots  and  the  extinguished  torch,  and  went 
back  again.  He  succeeded  in  regaining 
his  own  room  without  making  any  noise, 
and  by  that  time  he  had  decided  on  what 
he  ought  to  do.  He  decided  to  stand  in 
the  fireplace,  on  the  opposite  side.  The 
Woman  would  come  down  the  stepping- 
stones  and  steal  into  the  room :  he  would 
Watch  her  and  find  out  what  she  wanted. 
Then  he  would  act  according  to  the  issue 
of  events ;  and  at  any  rate  he  could  inter 
cept  her  on  her  return,  and  make  her  give 
an  account  of  herself. 

Having  come  to  this  conclusion,  Harry 
stood  there  in  the  chimney,  waiting  most 
patiently  for  what  seemed  a  very  long  time. 
He  suspected  that  the  woman  might  still 
be  hesitating,  but  determined  to  wait  until 
she  should  make  her  appearance.  At  length 
he  heard  a  noise,  which  seemed  to  come 
from  the  passage  above.  It  was  a  soft,  dull, 
scraping,  sliding  noise  of  a  very  peculiar 
kind,  the  cause  and  the  nature  of  which  he 
could  not  conjecture.  The  sound  came, 
and  then  stopped,  and  came  again,  and 
again  stopped,  for  three  or  four  times. 
Harry  listened  and  waited.  At  last  the 
sound  ceased  altogether,  and  there  was  the 
same  stillness  as  before. 

Harry  now  waited  for  so  long  a  time  that 
his  patience  was  quite  exhausted,  and  he 
resolved,  come  what  might,  to  go  up  again 
to  the  end  of  the  passage  and  wait  there. 
He  knew  the  way  now  well  enough.  He 
left  his  torch  and  boots  behind,  and,  climb 
ing  up,  went  along  the  passage,  half  expect 
ing  to  encounter  the  woman,  and  ready  to 
seize  her  and  question  her.  But  he  found 
no  one.  All  was  still.  He  reached  the 
chimney  of  the  other  room,  and  then,  as  be 
fore,  he  looked  down. 

He  saw  the  moonbeams  lying  on  the 
floor ;  he  heard  the  slow,  low,  regular  breath 
ing  of  sleepers,  one  of  whom  seemed  still 
to  be  in  that  troubled  dream.  Familiarity 
with  these  surroundings  had  now  made  him 
bold. 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


65 


Should  he  venture  now,  or  wait  longer? 

Wait !  Why  wait  ?  When  could  he  hope 
to  have  a  better  time  than  the  present  ? 

But  one  of  the  women  was  no  doubt 
awake — that  one  who  had  already  visited 
him. 

What  of  that  ?  He  cared  not ;  he  could 
not  wait.  Perhaps  she  was  a  frien-d —  it 
seemed  like  it.  At  any  rate  he  was  re 
solved  to  risk  it.  To  go  back  wras  not  to 
be  thought  of.  All  his  nerves  were  so 
wrought  up,  and  to  such  an  intense  pitch 
of  excitement,  that  sleep  was  impossible 
and  any  longer  waiting  intolerable.  He 
determined  to  risk  all  now. 

And  for  what  ? 

For  the  chance,  not  of  escape,  but  of 
communicating  with  Katie. 

The  fact  is,  as  any  one  may  see,  Harry 
was  getting  in  a  very  bad  way  about  Katie. 
Else  why  should  he  make  such  a  point 
about  seeing  her,  and  run  such  a  risk,  and 
make  even  the  chance  of  his  personal  safety 
a  secondary  consideration  ?  And  what  for  ? 
What  did  Katie  care  for  him  ?  What  in 
deed  ? 

These  very  questions  had  occurred  to  the 
mind  of  Harry  himself,  but  they  had  one 
and  all  been  promptly  answered  by  that 
volatile  young  man  in  a  way  that  was  quite 
satisfactory  to  himself.  For  he  said  to  him 
self  that  he  was  a  poor  lone  man ;  an  un 
fortunate  captive  in  a  dungeon;  in  the 
hands  of  a  merciless  foe ;  under  sentence 
of  death ;  with  only  a  week  to  live ;  and 
that  he  wanted  sympathy,  yes,  pined  for  it 
— craved,  yearned,  hungered  and  thirsted 
for  sweet  sympathy.  And  it  seemed  to 
him  as  though  no  one  could  give  him  that 
sympathy  for  which  he  pined  so  well  as 
Katie.  And  therefore  he  was  going  down 
to  her  on  this  desperate  errand  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  seeing  her,  and  perhaps  of  com 
municating  with  her. 

A  thought  occurred  to  him  at  the  elev 
enth  hour,  while  he  was  on  the  verge  of  the 
descent,  and  that  was  to  write  something 
to  her  and  drop  it  down.  He  might  pencil 
something  on  a  leaf  of  his  pocket-book. 
But,  after  all,  what  would  be  the  good  of 
that?  Would  she  ever  see  it?  Might  it 
not  be  picked  up  by  one  of  the  waiting- 
women  in  the  morning?  Most  likely  it 
would  be,  in  which  case  it  would  be  car 
ried  to  the  chief,  "  His  Majesty,"  and  all 
would  be  revealed.  He  then  would  be  con 
veyed  to  another  part  of  the  castle,  and 
then— good-bye  to  the  hidden  package  and 


to  Katie.  This  thought  decided  him.  He 
continued  his  descent. 

Slowly,  cautiously,  and  stealthily  Harry 
began  to  venture  down,  looking  behind  him 
at  every  raovementi  and  at  every  movement 
waiting  and  listening.  No  sound  arose, 
however,  except  the  low  breathing,  which 
was  as  regular  as  before.  At  length  he 
stood  upon  the  stone  floor  of  the  fireplace. 

Here  he  stood  and  looked  into  the  room. 
By  this  time  his  eyes  were  so  accustomed 
to  the  moonlight  that  he  could  see  objects 
with  wonderful  distinctness.  He  could  see 
three  beds,  upon  which  were  reclining  three 
figures,  all  apparently  buried  in  sleep.  Like 
himself,  all  these  had  been  compelled  to  lie 
down  in  their  clothes,  with  only  such  addi 
tional  covering  as  might  be  afforded  by 
their  own  shawls  and  wraps. 

Harry  stole  forward,  his  heart  beating 
painfully.  Upon  the  rude  couch  nearest 
him  lay  a  figure  that  seemed  familiar.  The 
moonbeams  shone  full  upon  her.  A  shawl 
with  a  large  stripe  was  drawn  over  her. 
It  was  Katie's  shawl. 

Harry  came  nearer. 

He  could  see  her !  It  was — yes,  it  was 
Katie ! 

There  was  no  mistake  about  it.  It  was 
Katie,  and  she  was  sound  asleep.  He  look 
ed  at  her  as  she  slept — her  head  thrown 
back,  and  one  arm  upraised,  so  that  the  lit 
tle  hand  seemed  suspended  in  the  air.  For 
a  few  moments  he  stood,  then  he  sank  upon 
his  knees,  and  gazed  in  silent  rapture  on 
that  sweet  and  beautiful  face.  Her  breath 
ing  was  soft  and  low — scarce  audible.  He 
bent  his  head  down  to  listen.  Katie  stirred. 
She  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  H-s-s-s-s-sh  1"  whispered  Harry. 

At  this  Katie  stopped  breathing  for  a 
moment,  and  then  she  whispered,  very  soft- 

iy, 

"  Who  are  you  ?" 

"  Harry,"  said  the  other.  "  Don't  speak 
a  word." 

Saying  this,  he  reached  out  his  hand  and 
took  hers.  This  was  intended  merely  to 
soothe  her  and  to  reassure  her,  for  fear  that 
she  might  be  startled. 

"  I  knew  you  would  come  to  me,"  said 
Katie,  in  a  rapid  and  joyous  whisper ;  "  and 
here  you  are — you  dear,  good  boy !" 

At  this  Harry's  heart  beat  with  a  rapture 
that  was  positive  pain. 

"  I  had  to  come.  I  could  not  keep  away," 
he  whispered. 

"  I  was  just  dreaming  that  you  were  with 


66 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


me,"  whispered  Katie,  "  and  it  all  seems  so 
awfully  natural.  But  won't  the  others  see 
you?" 

"  H-s-s-s-s-sli !"  said  Harry.  "  They're  all 
sound  asleep." 

Katie  now  raised  herself  up  on  her  elbow, 
while  Harry  remained  kneeling  on  the  floor. 
" I  think  it's  so  lovely,"  she  said.  "It's 
so  awfully  nice,  and  jolly,  and  all  that — in 
this  mysterious  old  castle ;  and  here,  lo  and 
behold !  you  come  popping  in  upon  one  just 
like  a  romance." 

"  H-s-s-s-s-sh !  you  mustn't  speak." 
"  But  it's  so  awfully  nice,  you  know,  I 
must  speak,  and,  besides,  we're  only  whis 
pering." 

"  Well,  whisper  lower,  and  closer." 
Katie  held  her  head  closer  to  Harry,  and 
thus  these  two,  for  purely  precautionary 
purposes,  carried  on  the  rest  of  the  conver 
sation  in  that  position.  And  their  heads 
were  so  close  that  they  touched  ;  and  their 
whispers  were  very  soft  and  low.  But  all 
this  was  necessary;  for  if  they  had  not 
taken  these  precautions,  they  might  have 
wakened  up  old  Mrs.  Russell,  and  then,  as 
a  matter  of  course,  there  would  have  been 
the  mischief  to  pay. 

"  There's  too  much  moonlight  here,"  said 
Harry.  "  Come  over  inside  the  old  fire 
place,  and  we'll  be  in  the  dark." 

"  Oh,  that  will  be  so  nice !"  said  Katie. 
And  she  at  once  got  up  and  stole  away  to 
the  deep,  dark  fireplace,  where  both  of  them 
were  wrapped  in  impenetrable  gloom.  It 
was  well  that  they  did  so,  for  at  that  mo 
ment  something  waked  Mrs.  Russell,  who 
called  out, 
"  Katie !" 

"Well,  auntie,"  said    Katie,  from    the 
depths  of  the  fireplace. 
"  I  thought  I  heard  a  noise." 
"  Oh  no,  auntie ;  you've  been  dreaming," 
said  Katie,  in  a  tone  of  sweet  sympathy. 
"  Go  to  sleep  again,  poor  dear." 

And  auntie  sank  back  into  the  land  of 
dreams.  After  a  little  judicious  waiting 
they  were  able  to  resume  their  interrupt 
ed  conversation. 

"How,  in  the  name  of  wonder,"  said 
Katie,  "  did  you  ever,  ever  manage  to  get 
here?" 

Harry  bent  down,  and  in  a  low,  very  low 
faint  whisper  told  her  all  about  it,  dwelling 
upon  every  little  detail,  and  not  forgetting 
to  mention  how  he  had  longed  to  see  her 
and  had  risked  everything  for  it.  And  Ka 
tie  kept  interrupting  him  incessantly,  with 


soft  cooing  whispers  of  sympathy,  which 
were  exceeding  sweet  and  precious. 

And  Katie  proceeded  to  tell  that  she  had 
jeen  dreaming — and  wasn't  it  funny? — 
about  him ;  that  she  thought  he  had  got 
nto  one  of  the  windows,  and  was  about  to 
carry  her  off. 

"  And  were  you  glad  to  see  me  ?"  asked 
Harry. 

"Awfully!"  said  Katie;  "just  the  same 
n  my  dream  as  I  am  now,  only  I  can't  see 
rou  one  bit — it's  so  awfully  dark." 

"  Are  you  afraid  ?"  asked  Harry,  in  a 
;rembling  voice. 

"  Afraid  ?  Oh  no.  It's  awfully  nice,  and 
all  that,  you  know." 

"  But  shouldn't  you  like  to  get  away  out 
of  this?" 

"  Get  away  ?" 

"  Yes,  if  I  could  get  off,  and  get  you  off 
too?" 

"  But  how  can  we  go  ?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know  just  yet.  I  only 
know  the  way  from  my  room  here,  and 
back  again ;  but  I  may  find  out  something." 

"But  that  won't  do  any  good.  Don't 
you  really  know  any  way  out  ?" 

"  Not  yet,  but  I  hope  to  find  one ;  I  dare 
say  I  shall  before  long." 

"  Oh,  how  delicious !  how  perfectly  de 
licious  that  would  be  !  I  do  wish  that  you 
only  could.  It  would  be  quite  too  aw^fully 
nice,  you  know." 

"  I'll  let  you  know.     I  promise  you." 

"  But  then,"  said  Katie,  "  you'll  be  going 
off  yourself  and  leaving  poor  me  behind." 

"  Leave  you  /"  said  Harry,  indignantly ; 
'  never !" 

"  Wouldn't  you  really  ?"  asked  Katie,  in 
a  tone  of  delight. 

"  Never,"  said  Harry.  "  I  wouldn't  stir  a 
step  without  you.  I'd  rather  be  a  prisoner 
with  you  than  a  free  man  without  you." 

Katie  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  I  think  you  must  be 
a  true  friend." 

"  I'd  rather  be  here  with  you,"  persisted 
Harry, "  than  anywhere  in  the  world  with 
out  you." 

"If  only  your  passage-way  ran  outside 
the  building,  wouldn't  it  be  nice  ?"  said 
Katie.  "  Why,  we  might  pop  out  now,  and 
away  we  would  go,  and  no  one  a  bit  the 
wiser." 

"And  where  would  you  like  me  to  take 
you?" 

"  Where  ?     Oh,  anywhere  !" 

"  But  where  in  particular  ?" 


"  IT    AVAS — YES,   IT    WAS    KATIE  !' 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


67 


"  Oh,  I  don't  care.  I  like  Madrid  very 
well,  or  London ;  but  it's  too  rainy  there  and 
foggy." 

"  Should  you  like  Barcelona  ?"  inquired 
Harry,  tenderly. 

"  I  dare  say,  though  I've  never  been  there. 
But  I  don't  half  know  what  I'm  talking 
about,  and  I  think  I've  been  mixing  up  my 
dreams  with  real  life ;  and  you  come  so 
into  the  middle  of  a  dream  that  it  seems 
like  a  continuation  of  it ;  and  I'm  not  sure 
but  that  this  is  a  dream.  I'm  pinching  my 
self  too,  all  the  time,  and  it  hurts,  so  that  I 
think  I  must  be  awake.  But,  all  the  same, 
you  really  mean  what  you  say  ?" 

"  Mean  it  ?  Why,  I  can't  say  one  thou 
sandth  part  of  what  I  really  mean.  Don't 
you  believe  it,  when  you  see  me  here  ?" 

"  But  I  don't  see  you  at  all,"  said  Katie. 

Harry  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  and 
then  said,  abruptly, 

"Keep  your  shawl  around  you,  poor  lit 
tle  girl ;  I'm  afraid  you'll  get  cold ;"  and 
with  tender  solicitude  he  proceeded  to  draw 
her  shawl  tighter  around  her  slender  fig 
ure.  This  was  a  work  which  required  no 
little  time  and  skill.  Not  a  word  was  now 
spoken  for  some  time.  This  was  of  course 
wiser  on  their  part  than  whispering,  for 
whispers  are  sometimes  dangerous,  and 
may  lead  to  discovery.  But  Harry  seemed 
troubled  about  Katie's  health,  and  was  nev 
er  satisfied  about  that  shawl. 

"  You  are  so  very  kind !"  said  Katie,  at 
last. 

"  It's  because  I'm  so  fond  of — the  shawl," 
said  Harry.  "  I  love  to  arrange  it  for  you. 
I  should  like  to  take  it  back  with  me." 

"  Should  you  really  ?" 

"Above  all  things— except  one." 

"What?" 

"Why,  of  course,  I  should  rather  take 
back  with  me  what's  inside  the  shawl." 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  '  what's  inside  the  shawl ' 
would  like  very  much  to  get  away  out  of 
this  prison ;  and  so,  sir,  when  you  find  a 
way,  you  must  let  her  know.  But  won't 
Mr.Kussell  wake  and  miss  you?" 

"Mr.  Russell?  Why,  he  isn't  with  me 
any  longer." 

"Isn't  he?"' 

"No.  I'm  all  alone.  They  took  him 
away,  and  I  suppose  he's  alone  too." 

"Oh  dear!  I  hope  I  sha'n't  be  left 
alone." 

"  I  hope,  if  you  are,  you  may  be  left 
here." 

"  Why  ?"  asked  Katie,  who  knew  per 


fectly  well,  but  liked  to  hear  it  stated  in 
plain  words. 

"  Why — because  I  could  come  to  see  you 
all  the  time  then,  instead  of  waiting  till 
they're  all  asleep." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

IX    WHICH    DOLORES     INDULGES    IN    SOME    REMINIS 
CENCES   OF   THE    PAST. 

THE  sleeper  to  whose  sighs  Harry  had 
listened  was  Mrs.  Russell,  who  awaked  on 
the  following  morning  burdened  with  the 
memories  of  unpleasant  dreams.  Dolores 
was  bright  and  cheerful.  Katie  was  as 
gay  and  as  sunny  as  ever — perhaps  a  trifle 
more  so. 

"  I  don't  understand  how  it  is,"  said  Mrs. 
Russell,  "  that  you  two  can  keep  up  your 
spirits  so  in  this  ogre's  castle.  I'm  certain 
that  something  dreadful  's  going  to  hap 
pen." 

"  Oh,  auntie,  you  shouldn't  be  always 
looking  on  the  dark  side  of  things." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  what  other  side 
there  is  to  look  on  except  the  dark  one. 
For  my  part,  I  think  it  best  always  to  pre 
pare  for  the  worst;  for  then  when  it  comes 
one  isn't  so  utterly  overwhelmed." 

"  Yes,"  said  Katie,  "  but  suppose  it 
doesn't  come  ?  Why,  then,  don't  you  see, 
auntie,  you  will  have  had  all  your  worry 
for  nothing  ?" 

"  Oh,  it's  all  very  well  for  one  like  you. 
You  are  like  a  kitten,  and  turn  everything 
to  mirth  and  play." 

"  Well,  here  is  our  dear,  darling  Dolores," 
said  Katie,  who  by  this  time  had  become 
great  friends  with  the  dark-eyed  Spanish 
beauty.  "  Look  at  her !  She  doesn't 
mope." 

"  Oh  no,  I  doesn't  what  you  call— mopes," 
said  Dolores,  in  her  pretty  broken  English. 
"  I  see  no  causa  to  mopes." 

"  But  you're  a  prisoner  as  much  as  I  am." 

"  Oh  si — but  thees  is  a  land  that  I  have 
a  quaintance  with:  I  know  thees  land — 
thees  part." 

"  Have  you  ever  been  here  before  ?'f 

"  Si — yes.    I  lif  here  once  when  a  child." 

"  Oh,  you  lived  here,"  said  Katie.  "  Well, 
now,  do  you  know,  I  call  that  awfully 
funny." 

"  My  padre — he  lif  here  in  thees  castello. 
I  lif  here  one  time — one  anno — one  year,  in 
thees  castello." 


68 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


"What !  here  in  this  castle ?" 

"Yes,  here.  The  padre — he  had  grand 
flocks  of  the  merino  sheeps — to  cultivate — 
to  feed  them  in  the  pasturas — the  sheep — 
one — ten  —  twenty  thousand — the  sheep. 
And  he  had  thousand  men  shepherds — 
and  he  lif  here  in  thees  castello  to  see 
over  the  flocks.  But  he  was  away  among 
the  flocks  alia  the  times.  And  me,  and 
the  madre,  and  the  domesticos,  we  all  did 
lif  here,  and  it  seems  to  me  like  homes." 

"  But  that  must  have  been  long  ago  ?" 

"Oh,  long,  long  ago.  I  was  vara  leetl 
— a  child ;  and  it  was  long  ago.  Then  the 
padre  went  to  Cuba." 

"  Cuba !    What !  have  you  been  there  ?" 

"  Oh,  many,  many  years." 

"Across  the  Atlantic — far  away  in 
Cuba?" 

"  Far,  far  away,"  said  Dolores,  her  sweet 
voice  rising  to  a  plaintive  note  ;  "  far  away 
— in  Cuba — oh,  many,  many  years!  And 
there  the  padre  had  a  plantation,  and  was 
rich ;  but  the  insurrection  it  did  break  out, 
and  he  was  killed." 

Dolores  stopped  and  wiped  her  eyes. 
Katie  looked  at  her,  and  her  own  eyes 
overflowed  with  tears  of  tender  sympathy. 

"  Oh,  how  sad !"  she  said.  "  I  had  no 
idea." 

Dolores  drew  a  long  breath. 

"Yes;  he  died,  the  good,  tender  padre; 
and  madre  and  me  be  left  all — all — all — 
alone — alone — in  the  cruele  world.  And 
the  rebel  came,  and  the  soldiers,  and  oh, 
how  they  did  fight !  And  the  slaves,  they 
did  all  run  away — all — all  —  all — away; 
and  the  trees  and  fruits  all  destroy;  and 
the  houses  all  burn  up  in  one  gran'  con 
flagration;  and  it  was  one  kind,  good 
American  that  did  help  us  to  fly ;  or  we 
never — never  would  be  able  to  lif.  So  we 
did  come  back  to  our  patria  poor,  and  we 
had  to  lif  poor  in  Valencia.  I  told  you  I 
was  lifing  in  Valencia  when  I  left  that 
place  to  come  on  thees  travel." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Katie,  "since  you  lived 
in  this  castle  once,  you  must  know  all 
about  it." 

"  Oh  yes,  all— all  about  it." 

"  And  you  must  have  been  all  over  it  in 
every  direction." 

"  Oh  yes,  all  over  it — all — all  over  it — 
thousand  —  thousand  times,  and  in  every 
parts  and  spots." 

"  It's  such  a  strange  old  castle,"  contin 
ued  Katie,  who  was  very  anxious  to  find 
out  how  far  the  knowledge  of  Dolores 


went,  and  whether  she  knew  anything 
about  the  secret  passage ;  "  it's  such  a 
strange  old  castle ;  it's  like  those  that  one 
reads  of  in  the  old  romances." 

"  Yes,  oh,  vara,  vara,"  said  Dolores ; 
"like  the  feudal  Gothic  castellos  of  the 
old — old  charming  romances ;  like  the  cas 
tello  of  the  Cid ;  and  you  go  up  the  towers 
and  into  the  turrets,  and  you  walk  over 
the  top,  past  the  battlementa,  and  you  spy, 
SPV>  sPy  deep  down  into  the  courts; 
and  you  dre'am,  and  dream,  and  dream. 
And  when  I  was  a  vara  leetl  child,  I  did 
use  to  do  nothing  else  but  wander  about, 
and  dream,  and  dream,  and  get  lost,  and 
could  not  find  my  way  back.  Oh,  I  could 
tell  you  of  a  thousand  things.  I  could 
talk  all  the  day  of  that  bright,  bright 
time  when  my  padre  was  like  a  noble ;  so 
rich  he  was,  and  living  in  his  grand  cas 
tello." 

"And  did  you  really  wander  about  so? 
and  did  you  really  get  lost  so?"  asked 
Katie,  who  was  still  following  up  her  idea, 
being  intent  upon  learning  how  much  Do 
lores  knew  about  the  inner  secrets  of  the 
castle — "  such  as  where,  now,"  she  added, 
eagerly,  "  where  would  you  get  lost  ?" 

"Oh,  everywhere,"  said  Dolores,  "and 
all  over.  For  there  are  halls  that  open 
into  gallerias ;  and  gallerias  that  open  into 
rooms;  and  rooms  into  closets,  and  these 
into  other  halls;  and  grand  apartments  of 
states ;  and.  states  beds  -  chambers ;  and 
there  are  the  upper  rooms  for  guests  and 
domesticos;  and  down  below  them  are 
rooms  for  the  outer  servitores;  and  far,  far 
down,  far  down  underground,  there  are 
dungeons — fearful,  fearful  places  with  dark 
ness  and  r-r-rats  ! — and  that  is  all  that  you 
do  find  when  you  come  to  move  about  in 
this  wonderful,  this  maravelloso  castello." 

"And  have  you  been  all  through  the 
vaults  ?"  asked  Katie,  trying  to  lead  Dolores 
on  farther. 

"  Yes,"  said  Dolores,  "  all— all— through 
all  the  vaults,  every  single  one ;  and  there 
was  an  ancient  servitor  who  showed  me  all 
the  mysteria — an  ancient,  ancient,  venerable 
man  he  was  —  and  he  showed  me  all  the 
secrets,  till  all  the  castello  was  as  known 
to  me  as  thees  room ;  and  so  I  did  become 
lost  no  more,  and  we  did  use  to  wander 
together  through  dark  and  lonely  ways, 
and  up  to  the  turrets,  and  down  to  the 
vaults,  till  all  this  beautiful,  beautiful  old  cas 
tello  was  known  to  me  like  my  own  room." 

While  Dolores  talked  in  this  strain  she 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


69 


grew  more  and  more  enthusiastic,  and  made 
use  of  a  multiplicity  of  graceful  gestures  to 
help  out  her  meaning.  And  her  eyes  glow 
ed  bright  and  her  expressive  features  show 
ed  wonderful  feeling,  while  her  motions 
and  her  looks  were  full  of  eloquence.  It 
was  a  bright  and  joyous  past  that  opened 
to  her  memory,  and  the  thought  of  it  could 
not  be*  entertained  without  emotion.  By 
that  emotion  she  was  now  all  carried  away ; 
and  as  Katie  watched  her  glowing  face  and 
her  dark  gleaming  eyes  and  'all  her  elo 
quent  gestures,  she  thought  that  she  had 
never  seen  any  one  half  so  beautiful.  But 
Katie  was  dying  with  curiosity  to  find  out 
how  far  the  knowledge  of  Dolores  extend 
ed,  and  so  at  last,  taking  her  cue  from  Do 
lores's  own  words,  she  said : 

"  Dark  and  lonely  ways !  What  dark  and 
lonely  ways,  dear  Dolores  ?  That  sounds 
as  though  there  are  secret  passages  through 
this  old  castle.  Oh,  I  do  so  love  a  place 
with  vaults  and  secret  passages  !  And  are 
there  any  here,  dear  ?  and  have  you  been  in 
them  ever  ?" 

Like  lightning  the  glance  of  Dolores 
swept  over  Katie's  face ;  it  was  a  sudden, 
swift  glance,  and  one  full  of  subtle  ques 
tioning  and  caution.  Katie  saw  it  all,  and 
perceived  too,  at  once,  that  whatever  Do 
lores  might  know,  she  would  not  tell  it  in 
that  fashion  in  answer  to  a  point-blank 
question.  As  for  Dolores,  her  swift  glance 
passed,  and  she  went  on  with  hardly  any 
change  in  her  tone : 

"  Oh  yes ;  the  dark  and  lonely  ways,  far, 
far  below — in  the  vaults  and  through  the 
wide,  wide  walls.  For  they  run  everywhere, 
so  that  in  the  ancient  times  of  wars  the 
warriors  could  pass  from  tower  to  tower." 

Katie  saw  that  Dolores  was  on  her  guard 
and  was  evading  her  question,  from  which 
she  concluded  that  the  little  Spanish  maid 
knew  all  about  the  secret  passage-way  to 
Harry's  room.  The  visitor  to  him  must 
have  been  Dolores,  and  no  other.  But 
why?  This  she  could  not  answer.  She 
determined,  however,  upon  two  things — 
first,  to  keep  her  own  eyes  open  and  watch ; 
and  secondly,  to  tell  Harry  all  about  it  the 
next  time  she  saw  him. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

IN  WHICH  "  HIS  MAJESTY  "  EXHIBITS  THE  EMOTIONS 
OP  A  ROYAL  BOSOM,  AND  MRS.  RUSSELL  IS  DAZ 
ZLED  BY  A  BRILLIANT  PROSPECT. 

ON  the  following  morning  there  was 
great  excitement  in  Mrs.  Russell's  room. 
This  was  caused  by  one  of  the  female  at 
tendants,  wrho  had  come  with  the  announce 
ment  that  they  were  to  be  honored  in  a 
short  time  by  a  visit  from  "His  Majesty  the 
King." 

"  The  King !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Russell,  as 
soon  as  Dolores  had  translated  this.  "  What 
King  ?  Who  is  he  ?" 

"The  King!"  said  Dolores.  "He  can 
only  be  one — one  single  person — Don  Car 
los—King  Charles." 

"  King !"  cried  Mrs.  Russell,  "  and  coming 
here!  Oh  dear!  what  shall  I  do?  And 
my  dresses  !  and  my  jewels  !  and  my  toilet 
articles !  Oh,  wrhat  ever — ever — ever  will 
become  of  poor  me !" 

"  Oh,  auntie,  it  is  useless  to  think  of  that," 
said  Katie.  "You  are  a  prisoner,  and  no 
one  knows  that  so  well  as  the  '  King,'  as  he 
calls  himself." 

Mrs.  Russell,  however,  felt  different,  and 
continued  her  lamentations  until  "  His 
Majesty"  himself  appeared.  Great  was 
their  surprise  at  finding  this  exalted  per 
sonage  to  be  no  other  than  their  Carlist 
chief;  but  they  felt  still  greater  surprise 
when  "  His  Majesty  "  began  to  address  them 
in  English,  with  an  accent  which,  though 
foreign,  was  still  familiar. 

"  We  have  called,  ladies,"  said  he,  with  a 
magnificent  bow,  "  to  wish  yez  all  a  good- 
marrurdn',  an'  to  ax  afther  yer  healths." 

The  ladies  murmured  some  reply  which 
was  not  very  intelligible,  in  which,  however, 
the  words  "  Your  Majesty  "  occurred  quite 
frequently. 

"His  Majesty"  now  seated  himself  upon 
the  only  seat  in  the  room,  namely,  an  oaken 
bench,  and  then,  with  a  wave  of  his  royal 
hand,  said : 

"  Be  sated,  ladies,  be  sated.  Let's  waive 
all  farrums  an'  cirinionies,  an'  howld  con 
versation  like  frinds.  Be  sated,  we  beg ;  it's 
our  r'y'l  will,  so  it  is." 

The  ladies  looked  at  one  another  in 
meek  embarrassment.  There  was  nothing 
for  them  to  sit  on  except  the  rough  couch 
es  where  they  had  slept ;  and  finally,  as 
there  was  nothing  else  to  be  done,  they  sat 
there,  Mrs.  Russell  being  nearest  to  "  His 
Majesty,"  while  Katie  and  Dolores  sat  far- 


70 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


ther  away,  side  by  side,  holding  one  anoth 
er's  hands,  and  looking  very  meek  and  de 
mure  indeed. 

"  On  sich  occasions  as  these,"  said  "  His 
Majesty,"  "we  love  to  dhrop  all  coort  cir- 
imonial,  an'  lave  behind  all  our  body- 
gyards,  an'  nobles,  an'  barr'ns,  an'  cham 
berlains,  an'  thim  fellers,  an'  come  in  to 
have  a  chat  like  a  private  gintleman." 

"  Oh, '  Your  Majesty  !'  "  said  Mrs.  Russell, 
in  a  languishing  tone,  "how  very, very  nice 
it  must  be !" 

"  It  is  that,  bedad ;  that's  thrue  for  you," 
said  "His  Majesty."  "An'  sure  it's  meself 
that's  the  proud  man  this  day  at  findin' 
that  yez  can  put  a  thrue  interpretation  on 
our  r'y'l  Majesty." 

"Ah,  sire,"  sighed  Mrs.  Russell,  whose 
eyes  fell  in  shy  embarrassment  before  the 
dazzling  gaze  of"  His  Majesty." 

"Ax,"  resumed  "His  Majesty,"  "that 
seemed  like  thrayson  to  our  r'y'l  person 
have  unfortunately  compilled  us  to  detain 
yez ;  but  we  hope  it  '11  be  all  right,  an'  that 
ye'll  be  all  well  thraited.  We  thrust  we'll 
be  able  to  come  to  terrains  av  a  satisfactory 
character." 

A  murmur  followed  from  Mrs.  Russell. 

"Aifairs  av  state,"  continued  "His  Maj 
esty,"  "doesn't  allow  us  to  give  full  an' 
free  play  to  that  jaynial  timpiramint  that's 
our  chafe  an'  layding  fayture.  It's  war 
toime  now,  so  it  is,  an'  our  r'y'l  moind's 
got  to  be  harsh,  oystayre,  an'  onbinding. 
War  wid  our  raybellious  subjix  compils  us 
to  rayjuice  thim  to  obejience  by  farrce  av 
arrums." 

"An'  now,  madame  an'  ladies,"  con 
tinued  "  His  Majesty,"  after  a  brief  pause, 
"  I  hope  yez  won't  feel  alarrumed  at  what 
I'm  going  to  say  nixt.  Ye  see,  our  Prime 
Ministher  has  conveyed  to  our  r'y'l  ear 
charges  against  your  worthy  husband  av  a 
traysonable  nature." 

"My  husband  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Russell. 
"What!  my  John?  Oh!" 

"  Yis,"  said  "  His  Majesty."  "  I'm  towld 
that  he's  been  passing  himself  off  as  Lord 
John  Russell,  the  Prime  Ministher  av  Eng 
land,  an'  as  the  spicial  ambassador  exthra- 
ardinary  from  our  r'y'l  cousin,  the  Quane 
av  England,  to  investigate  the  state  av  af 
fairs  in  Spain,  wid  an'  oi  to  raycognition 
av  our  r'y:l  claims.  As  such  we've  honor 
ed  him  wid  an'  aujence,  an'  communicated 
to  him  siviral  state  saycrits  av  a  highly 
important  nature.  At  that  toime  he  wint 
an'  he  tuk  onjew  advantage  av  our  confi- 


dince  to  desayve  our  r'y'l  moind.  Upon 
the  discovery  av  this  offince  I  felt  the 
kaynist  sorrow,  not  for  him,  ladies,  but  for 
you;  an'  it's  for  your  sakesthat  I  now  come 
here,  to  assure  you  av  my  tinder  sympathy, 
an'  also  to  ax  about  the  fax.  Is  he  Lord 
John  Russell  ?" 

Mrs.  Russell  had  at  first  felt  ready  to 
faint  at  this  woful  disclosure,  but  she  felt 
the  eye  of  majesty  resting  on  her,  and  she 
saw  something  there  that  reassured  her. 
She  afterward  told  Katie,  in  confidence, 
that  she  could  understand  exactly  how 
Queen  Esther  had  felt  when  Ahasuerus  held 
out  his  sceptre. 

"Ah,  sire  !"  she  replied.  "  Oh,  Your  Most 
Gracious  Majesty  !  He  isn't  quite  a  lord, 
sire,  it's  true,  but  he's  a  gentleman." 

"Sure  to  glory  that's  thrue,"  said  "His 
Majesty."  "  Don't  I  know  it  ?— meself  does. 
He's  a  gintleman,  so  he  is,  ivery  inch  av 
him ;  an'  yit  may  I  ax,  madame,  what  made 
him  praytind  to  be  a  British  nobleman  ?" 

"  Oh,  Your  Royal  Majesty  !"  said  Mrs. 
Russell,  in  deep  distress. 

"  Spake  on,  fair  an'  beauchcous  one," 
said  "  His  Majesty,"  with  great  gallantry. 
"  Spake  on.  Our  r'y'l  bosom's  full,  so  it 
is,  av  tindirist  sintinrints.  Power  forth  yer 
story  into  our  r'y'l  ear.  Come — or — whisht ! 
Come  over  here  an'  sit  by  our  r'y'l  side." 

Saying  this,  "  His  Majesty  "  moved  over 
to  one  end  of  the  bench  and  sat  there. 
Unfortunately,  as  he  placed  himself  on  the 
extreme  end,  the  bench  tilted  up  and  the 
royal  person  went  down.  Katie,  who  was 
always  very  volatile,  tittered  audibly  and 
Dolores  did  the  same.  But  "  His  Majesty" 
took  no  offence.  The  fact  is  he  laughed 
himself,  and  bore  it  all  magnanimously,  in 
fact  royally.  He  picked  himself  up  as  nim 
bly  as  a  common  person  could  have  done. 

"Be  the  powers!"  said  he,  "  Avhin  the 
King  loses  his  gravity,  it's  toime  for  eveiy- 
body  else  to  lose  his.  But  come  along,  jool, 
come  an'  sit  by  our  r'y'l  side,  an'  tell  us 
the  story." 

Mrs.  Russell  had  turned  quite  pale  at  the 
royal  fall,  and  paler  yet  at  the  sound  of 
Katie's  laugh,  but  these  words  reassured 
her.  They  seemed  to  show  that  she,  un 
worthy  and  humble,  was  singled  out  in 
a  special  manner  to  be  the  mark  of  royal 
favor.  And  why?  Was  it  on  her  own  ac 
count,  or  for  some  other  reason  ?  She  chose 
to  consider  that  it  was  on  her  own  account. 
At  the  renewed  request  of  "  His  Majesty," 
which  was  so  kind,  so  tender,  and  at  the 


"THE  BENCH  TILTED  UP,  AND  THE  ROYAL  PERSON  WENT  DOWN." 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


71 


same  time  so  flattering,  she  could  no  longer 
resist,  but  with  fluttering  heart,  shy  timidi 
ty,  and  girlish  embarrassment,  she  went  over 
to  "  His  Majesty  "  and  seated  herself  on  the 
bench  by  his  side. 

The  manner  of  Mrs.  Russell,  which  had 
all  the  airs  and  graces  of  a  village  coquette, 
together  with  the  bashfulness  of  a  school 
miss,  seemed  to  Katie  and  Dolores,  but  es 
pecially  Katie,  a  very  rich  and  wondrous 
thing.  She  always  knew  that  Mrs.  Russell 
was  a  gushing,  sentimental  creature,  but 
had  never  before  seen  her  so  deeply  affect 
ed.  But  on  this  occasion  the  good  lady 
felt  as  though  she  was  receiving  the  hom 
age  of  the  King,  and  might  be  excused  if 
she  had  all  the  sensations  of  a  court  beauty. 

Mrs.  Russell  now,  at  u  His  Majesty's  "  re 
newed  request,  began  to  explain  the  posi 
tion  of  her  husband.  He  was  a  tailor,  it  is 
true,  but  not  by  any  means  a  common  tail 
or.  In  fact,  he  associated  exclusively  with 
the  aristocracy.  He  was  very  eminent  in 
his  profession.  He  had  an  army  of  cutters 
and  stitchers  under  him.  He  was  not  a 
tailor,  but  a  Merchant  Tailor,  and,  more 
over,  he  was  a  member  of  the  Merchant 
Tailors'  Association,  and  a  man  of  enor 
mous  wealth. 

"Sure  to  glory,"  ejaculated  "  His  Majes 
ty,"  as  Mrs.  Russell  paused  for  breath,  "  I 
knowed  it  was  just  that.  It  makes  all  the 
differ  in  the  worruld  whether  a  man's  only 
a  tailor  wid  a  small '  t '  or  a  Merchant  Tail 
or  wid  capital  letters." 

"We  keep  our  own  carriage,"  continued 
Mrs.  Russell,  bridling  and  tossing  her  head, 
"and  we  have  our  own  coat  of  arms  and 
crest — the  Russell  arms,  you  know,  the  same 
as  the  Duke  of  Bedford." 

"  'Dade  !"  said  "  His  Majesty,"  "  so  ye  have 
the  Russell  arrums.  I'm  acquainted  wid 
His  Grace  the  Juke  av  Bedford.  I  seen  him 
in  Paris.  He's  a  conniction  av  me  own  in 
a  distant  way,  an'  so  you  too  must  be  a 
conniction  in  a  distant  way,  being  a  mim- 
ber  av  the  House  av  Russell." 

"  Oh,  sire !  Oh  yes — may  it  please  Your 
Gracious  Majesty — yes,  I  dare  say  I  am.  Oh 
yes."  Mrs.  Russell  was  quite  overcome  at 
the  royal  condescension. 

"Sure,"  continued  "His  Majesty,"  "we 
r'y'l  personages  always  acknowledge  our 
cousins.  You're  a  cousin  av  mine,  a  distant 
one,  it's  thrue,  but  degrays  don't  count  wid 
us.  Wanst  a  cousin,  always  a  cousin." 

"Ah,  sire!" 

"  I  niver  knowed  that  ve  were  a  cousin 


befoor,"  said  "His  Majesty,"  "or  else  I'd 
saluted  ye  in  our  r'y'l  fashion,  just  as  our 
cousin  Quane  Victoria  did  whin  she  ac 
knowledged  the  Imperor  Napoleon.  It's 
our  way  to  acknowledge  relationship  wid 
the  r'y'l  kiss.  We  call  it  the  Kiss  av  State. 
Allow  me,  cousin." 

And  before  the  astounded  Mrs.  Russell 
understood  his  intention,  "His  Majesty" 
put  his  arm  round  her  waist,  and  gave  her 
a  sounding  smack,  which  seemed  to  Katie 
like  the  report  of  a  pistol. 

This  was  altogether  too  much  for  poor 
Katie.  She  had  almost  lost  control  of  her 
self  several  times  already,  but  now  it  was 
impossible  to  maintain  it  any  longer,  and 
she  went  off  into  a  wild  burst  of  laughter. 
It  proved  contagious.  Dolores  caught  it, 
and  clung  to  Katie,  burying  her  face  against 
her,  and  half  hiding  it  behind  her. 

"His  Majesty"  dropped  his  "cousin"  as 
though  he  had  been  shot,  and,  turning  round, 
regarded  the  two  young  ladies  for  some  min 
utes  in  silence,  while  Mrs.  Russell  sat  rigid 
with  horror  at  this  shocking  irreverence. 
But  in  the  royal  eye,  as  it  rested  on  Katie, 
there  was  a  merry  twinkle,  until  at  length 
the  contagion  seized  upon  "His  Majesty" 
himself,  and  he  too  burst  forth  into  peals  of 
laughter.  After  this  even  Mrs.  Russell  join 
ed  in,  and  so  it  happened  that  the  King 
and  the  three  ladies  enjoyed  quite  a  pleas 
ant  season. 

The  King  at  length  recovered  from  his 
laughing  fit,  and  drew  himself  up  as  though 
preparing  for  business. 

"Ye  see,"  said  he,  "Misther  Russell  has 
committed  an  offince  against  our  r'y'l  pray- 
rogatives,  an'  ayven  his  being  our  cousin 
doesn't  help  him,  so  it  doesn't,  for  ye  see 
it's  a  toime  av  clanger — the  habeas  corpus  is 
suspindid,  thrial  by  jury's  done  up;  there's 
only  martial  law,  an',  be  jabers,  there's  a 
coort-martial  in  session  at  this  blessed  mo- 
mint  in  the  room  overhead." 

"  Oh,  sire,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Russell,  clasp 
ing  her  hands,  "  they're  not  sitting  on  my 
poor  John !" 

"Sure  an'  it's  just  him,  an'  divil  a  one 
else,  so  it  is;  an'  it  'ud  be  mesilf  that  'ud 
be  proud  to  git  him  off  if  I  cud,  but  I  can't, 
for  law  is  law,  and  there  ye  have  it ;  and 
though  we  are  King,  yet  even  we  haven't 
any  power  over  the  law.  Fiat  justitia,  mat 
ccdum.  I've  got  no  more  conthrol  over  the 
law  than  over  the  weather.  But  we've  got 
something  an'  that  is  a  heart  that  milts  at 
the  soight  av  beauty  in  disthress." 


72 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


"  Oh,  sire,"  said  Mrs.  Russell,  "spare  him !" 

"His  Majesty"  took  her  hand, pressed  it, 
and  held  it  in  his. 

"  Dearest  cousin,"  said  he, "  ye  ax  impos 
sibilities.  Law  is  an'  must  be  shuprame. 
Even  now  the  coort  is  deciding.  But  in 
any  evint,  even  the  worst,  ye  have  a  frind 
in  us  —  constant,  tinder,  an'  thrue;  in  any 
evint,  no  matther  what,  moind  ye,  I  won't 
forgit.  Niver,  niver !  I'll  be  thrue  to  me 
word.  Permit  us  to  laymint  that  we  had 
not  met  ye  befoor  the  late — that  is,  befoor 
John  Russell  obtained  this  hand.  Nay, 
dhrop  not  that  beaucheous  head,  fair  one. 
Let  the  r'y'l  eye  gaze  on  those  charrums. 
Our  r'y'l  joy  is  to  bask  an'  sun  ourselves 
in  the  light  av  loveliness  an'  beauty." 

The  strain  in  which  u  His  Majesty"  spoke 
was  certainly  high-flown  and  perhaps  ex 
travagant,  yet  his  intention  was  to  express 
tenderness  and  sympathy,  and  to  Mrs.  Rus 
sell  it  seemed  like  a  declaration  made  to 
her,  and  expressive  of  much  more.  She 
felt  shocked,  it  is  true,  at  the  word  "  late  " 
applied  to  her  unfortunate  husband  by 
"His  Majesty,"  yet  the  words  which  fol 
lowed  were  not  without  a  certain  consola 
tion. 

"  Oh,  that  it  were  possible,"  continued 
"  His  Majesty,"  "  for  some  of  us  in  this  room 
to  be  more  to  one  another !  Oh,  that  some 
one  here  would  allow  us  to  hope  !  Let  her 
think  av  all  that  we  could  do  for  her.  She 
should  be  the  sharer  av  our  heart  an' 
throne.  Her  lovely  brow  should  be  graced 
by  the  crown  av  Spain  an'  the  Injies.  She 
should  be  surrounded  by  the  homage  av 
the  chivalry  av  Spain.  She  should  fill  the 
most  dazzlin'  position  in  all  the  worruld. 
She  should  be  the  cynosure  av  r'y'l  majistic 
beauty.  She  should  have  wealth,  an'  hon 
ors,  an'  titles,  an'  dignities,  an'  jools,  an' 
gims,  all  powered  pell-mell  into  her  lap; 
an'  all  the  power,  glory,  moight,  majisty,  an' 
dominion  av  the  impayrial  Spanish  mon 
archy  should  be  widin  the  grasp  av  her  lit 
tle  hand.  What  say  ye, me  fair  one?" 

All  this  florid  harangue  was  uttered  for 
the  benefit  of  Katie,  and,  as  he  spoke,  "  His 
Majesty  "  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  her,  hoping 
that  she  would  respond  by  some  glance  or 
sign.  Yet  all  the  time  that  he  was  speak 
ing  he  was  unfortunately  holding  the  hand 
of  Mrs.  Russell,  who  very  naturally  took  all 
this  proposal  to  herself.  "  His  Majesty's  " 
language  had  already  seemed  to  convey  the 
information  that  her  husband  had  passed 
away  from  earth,  and  was  now  the  "  late  " 


John  Russell;  and  much  as  she  might 
mourn  over  the  fate  of  one  so  dear,  still  it 
could  not  be  but  that -the  devotion  of  one 
like  "His  Majesty"  should  touch  her  sensi 
tive  heart.  So  when  these  last  words  came, 
and  brought  what  seemed  to  her  like  a  di 
rect  appeal,  she  was  deeply  moved. 

"  What  say  ye,  me  fair  one  ?"  repeated 
"His  Majesty "  with  greater  earnestness, 
trying  to  catch  Katie's  eye. 

Mrs.  Russell's  eyes  were  modestly  bent 
downward  on  the  floor.  She  clung  to  the 
royal  hand. 

"  Oh,  sire !"  she  murmured.  "  Oh,  Your 
Royal  Majesty !  I  am  thine — yours  forever 
— I  cannot  refuse !" 

And  flinging  her  arms  about  him,  her 
head  sank  upon  his  shoulder. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

IN    WHICH   BROOKE    AND    TALBOT    BEGIN    TO    GROW 
VERY   WELL   ACQUAINTED. 

BROOKE'S  heart  sank  within  him  as,  fol 
lowed  by  Talbot,  he  once  more  entered  the 
old  mill.  He  knew  perfectly  well  that  his 
position  was  one  of  peril,  and  doubly  so 
from  the  part  which  he  had  been  playing. 
The  jeering  laugh  of  these  merciless  soldiers 
kept  ringing  in  his  ears;  the  sneers  of  Lo 
pez  and  his  bitter  taunts  could  not  be  for 
gotten.  His  disguise  was  no  longer  of  any 
value  either  to  himself  or  to  Talbot ;  his 
true  character,  when  declared,  seemed  even 
worse  in  the  eyes  of  these  men  than  his  as 
sumed  one  had  been.  To  them  a  Carlist 
was  far  from  being  so  bad  as  a  newspaper 
correspondent;  for  while  the  one  was  an 
open  enemy,  the  other  was  a  secret  foe,  a 
traitor,  and  a  spy.  Moreover,  in  addition 
to  this,  there  was  the  fact  that  he  wras  an 
American,  which,  instead  of  disarming  their 
rage,  had  only  intensified  it.  These  men 
called  themselves  Republicans,  but  they 
were  Spaniards  also ;  and  Spaniards  hate 
Americans.  They  cannot  forgive  the  great 
republic  for  its  overshadowing  power  which 
menaces  them  in  the  New  World,  and  for 
the  mighty  attraction  which  it  exercises 
upon  disaifected  Cubans. 

Great  though  his  own  danger  might  be, 
it  was  not,  however,  for  himself  that  Brooke 
feared.  It  was  for  Talbot.  Trusting  her 
self  implicitly  to  his  care  and  guidance,  she 
had  assumed  this  attire.  Among  the  Car- 
lists,  it  would  have  been  the  best  of  pro- 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


73 


tections  and  the  safest  of  disguises.  Among 
Kepublicans,  it  was  the  worst  of  garbs.  For 
many  of  the  Spanish  Republicans  were  full 
of  French  communistic  sentiments,  and 
were  ready  to  wage  war  with  all  priests, 
and  ecclesiasts  of  all  forms  of  religion. 
What  could  save  Talbot  from  their  mur 
derous  hands?  It  was  too  late  now  for 
her  to  go  back.  She  must  remain  a  priest, 
since  to  reveal  herself  in  her  true  character 
would  be  to  rush  on  to  certain  destruction. 
As  a  priest,  however,  she  was  exposed  to 
inevitable  danger ;  she  must  brave  all  per 
ils;  and  to  Brooke  there  seemed  not  one 
ray  of  hope  for  her  safety. 

They  went  back  to  the  loft,  and  here  they 
remained  in  silence  for  some  time.  At 
length  Brooke  spoke. 

"  Talbot  1" 

"  Well,  Brooke." 

"  Give  me  your  hand." 

The  slender  hand  of  Talbot  stole  into 
his.  It  was  as  cold  as  ice." 

"  Talbot !"  said  Brooke,  in  a  tremulous 
voice,  holding  her  hand  in  a  firm  grasp. 

"  Well,  Brooke." 

"  Do  you  understand  the  danger  we  are 
in  ?" 

"  Yes,  Brooke." 

"Do  you  forgive  me  for  my  share  in 
bringing  you  into  it  ?" 

"Brooke,"  said  Talbot,  reproachfully, 
"  such  a  question  is  ungenerous.  I  am  the 
only  cause  of  your  present  danger.  If  you 
had  been  alone,  without  such  a  fatal  incu 
bus  as  me,  you  might  easily  have  escaped  ; 
or,  rather,  you  would  never  have  fallen  into 
danger.  Oh,  I  know  —  I  know  only  too 
well,  that  you  have  thrown  away  your  life 
— or,  rather,  risked  it — to  save  me." 

As  Talbot  ended,  her  voice  died  away  in 
scarce  audible  tones,  which  were  full  of  in 
describable  pathos. 

Brooke  gave  a  short  laugh,  as  usual. 

"  Pooh  !"  said  he.  "  Tut— tut ;  stuff  and 
nonsense.  Talbot,  the  fact  is,  I've  been  a 
blockhead.  I've  got  you  into  a  fix,  and 
you're  the  sufferer.  Now  I'm  quite  ready 
to  die,  as  I  deserve,  for  getting  you  into 
danger ;  but  the  mischief  of  it  is,  what's 
going  to  become  of  you  ?  I  swear  to  you, 
Talbot,  this  is  now  my  only  fear." 

"  Brooke,"  said  Talbot,  in  mournful  tones, 
"  every  word  of  yours  is  a  reproach  to  me. 
You  force  me  to  remember  how  base  I  have 
been  in  allowing  you  to  sacrifice  yourself 
for  me.  Oh,  if  I  could  only  recall  the  past 
few  hours !  if  we  were  only  back  again  in 


the  tower,  I  would  never  let  you  go  with 
me;  I  would  make  my  journey  alone, 
and—" 

"  I  think,"  interrupted  Brooke,  "  that  I 
shall  have  to  shut  up.  Come,  now,  let's 
make  a  bargain.  I'll  say  no  more  about  it, 
if  you  don't.  Is  it  a  bargain  ?" 

"I  suppose  so." 

There  was  silence  now  for  a  short  time, 
after  which  Brooke  said : 

"  Talbot,  lad,  you  don't  object,  do  you, 
to  my  holding  your  hand  ?" 

"  Object,  Brooke  ?     Certainly  not." 

"It  seems  to  have  the  effect,"  said 
Brooke,  "  of  soothing  me,  and  of  making 
my  self-reproach  less  keen." 

"  When  you  hold  my  hand,  Brooke," 
said  Talbot,  in  a  low  voice,  whose  tremor 
showed  unusual  feeling,  "  I  feel  stronger, 
and  all  my  weakness  leaves  me.  And  I 
like  best  of  all  what  you  said  to  me  about 
my  not  being  a  girl.  I  love  to  have  you 
call  me  'Talbot,'  for  it  sounds  as  though 
you  have  confidence  in  poor  me ;  but,  best 
of  all,  I  love  to  hear  you  say  '  Talbot,  lad  ;' 
for  it  seems  as  though  you  look  on  me  as 
your  equal.  Your  tone  is  that  of  a  brave 
man  addressing  his  comrade,  and  the  very 
sound  of  your  voice  seems  to  drive  all  my 
fear  away." 

"  Good  boy  1"  said  Brooke,  in  a  harsh, 
husky  voice.  After  which,  he  cleared  his 
throat  violently,  but  said  nothing  further 
for  a  while. 

"  You  see,  Talbot,  lad,"  said  he,  at  last, 
"it  is  this:  I  have  a  feeling  that  I  can't 
get  rid  of,  and  I've  had  it  ever  since  we 
left  the  tower.  The  feeling  is  this — that 
you  are  my  younger  brother.  You  don't 
understand.  I'll  tell  you  about  him." 

"  Your  younger  brother !"  said  Talbot,  in 
a  low  voice,  soft  and  unutterably  sweet. 
Then  a  little  sigh  followed,  and  she  added : 
"  And  that  I  will  try  to  be  to  you,  Brooke, 
until  this  danger  is  over.  But  you  must 
bear  with  me,  and  not  be  angry  if  I  turn 
out  sometimes  to  be  a  coward." 

"  A  coward  ?"  said  Brooke.  "  Come,  I 
like  that.  Why,  Talbot,  boy  though  you 
are,  there  is  enough  stuff  in  you  to  fit  out 
half  a  dozen  men.  You're  a  Talbot,  to  be 
gin  with  ;  and,  in  addition  to  that,  you  are 
that  sort  of  a  person  that  you  would  let 
yourself  be  torn  in  pieces  for  the  sake  of 
a  comrade." 

"I'm  glad  you  think  that  of  me,"  said 
Talbot,  gently. 

"  I  was  going  to  tell  you  about  my  young- 


74 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


er  brother,'1  said  Brooke.  "We  were  in 
Cuba  together,  where  the  fighting  was— just 
such  a  country  as  this — and  I  was  trying 
to  work  my  way  along  between  the  two 
forces  so  as  to  get  to  Matanzas.  The  dan 
ger  was  frightful.  Neither  side  gave  any 
quarter.  It  was  a  war  of  savages,  and  my 
chief  anxiety  was  for  poor  Otto.  But  you 
never  saw  any  one  pluckier  than  he  was — 
as  cool,  as  calm,  as  fearless  as  though  he 
was  in  a  parlor.  So  we  went  for  weeks." 

"And  what  became  of  him  ?"  asked  Tal 
bot,  as  Brooke  paused. 

"  We  escaped,"  said  he,  "  and  reached 
Matanzas — but  there — the  poor  boy — died. 
So  you  see,  Talbot,  since  you  have  joined 
me  my  memory  goes  back  to  those  Cuban 
days ;  and  whenever  I  say  to  you  '  Talbot, 
lad,'  it  seems  as  though  I  am  speaking  to 
my  dear  lost  Otto.  And  here  let  me  say, 
Talbot,  that  if  I  ever  seem  familiar,  you 
must  not  think  it  want  of  respect ;  think 
rather  that  I  am  mistaking  you  for  Otto, 
and  forgive  it." 

"Do  not  say  that,"  said  Talbot.  "I 
should  prefer  to  have  you  think  of  me  as 
'  Otto,'  and  even  call  me  '  Otto.'  " 

"No,  Talbot,  boy,  you  have  your  own 
name,  and  by  that  I  will  call  you." 

"It  is  strange,  Brooke,"  said  Talbot, 
"  We  have  only  known  one  another  for  a 
short  time,  but  it  seems  as  though  we  had 
been  friends  for  a  lifetime.  I  suppose  this 
is  owing  to  the  feeling  of  comradeship 
which  has  sprung  up  between  us — or  per 
haps  because  you  think  of  me  as  your 
younger  brother.  For  my  part,  I  feel  as 
though  we  two  were  comrades,  like  sol 
diers  that  we  read  of,  only  my  part  in  the 
business  will  be  a  miserable  one,  I  fear. 
We  are  brothers  in  arms,  Brooke,  aren't 
we  ?" 

"Brothers  in  arms,"  said  Brooke,  in  a 
soft,  gentle  tone ;  "  yes,  Talbot,  lad,  that's 
exactly  what  we  are.  Yes,  comrade,  we 
have  a  fight  before  us,  and  only  each  other 
to  rely  on." 

"  In  our  family,"  said  Talbot,  "  there  is 
a  cimeter  which  is  an  heirloom.  It  was 
brought  from  the  East  during  the  Cru 
sades  by  an  ancestor.  While  there,  he  was 
wounded  and  taken  prisoner  by  a  Saracen 
emir  named  Hayreddin.  This  Saracen 
treated  him  with  chivalrous  generosity, 
and  a  warm  friendship  sprung  up  between 
them.  They  exchanged  arms,  the  Saracen 
taking  Talbot's  sword,  while  Talbot  took 
Hayreddin's  cimeter.  Hayreddin  set  Tal 


bot  free.  Afterward  he  himself  was  taken 
prisoner,  and  Talbot  was  fortunate  enough 
to  procure  his  freedom.  The  cimeter  is 
the  very  one  which  my  ancestor  brought 
back  from  the  Holy  Land." 

"  You  and  I,"  said  Brooke,  in  a  cheery 
tone,  "  will  be  Talbot  and  Hayreddin.  You 
are  the  Christian  knight,  and  I  am  the 
heathen.  It's  a  pity  we  can't  exchange 
arms." 

"  Yes,  we  can't  very  well  do  that." 

"We  can  exchange  something  at  any 
rate,  comrade,"  said  Brooke.  "  You  have 
my  priest's  dress — let  me  have  something 
of  yours  by  way  of  exchange." 

"  But  what  can  I  give  ?"  said  Talbot. 

"Anything,  from  a  needle  to  a  needle- 
gun.  It  would  be  better  if  portable  —  an 
old  ribbon,  a  portable  pincushion,  a  boot 
lace." 

"  I  have  something,"  said  Talbot,  sudden 
ly,  "  if  you  will  take  it,  Brooke  ;  but  perhaps 
you  will  think  it  only  a  bother." 

"No,  Talbot,  lad,  brother  —  brother  in 
arms,  and  comrade  of  mine ! — nothing  that 
you  can  give  shall  be  regarded  as  other 
than  a  comrade's  pledge." 

Talbot  withdrew  her  hand,  which  Brooke 
had  been  holding  all  this  time. 

"  Here  is  something,"  said  she.  "  It  will 
do  better  than  anything  else." 

"  What  is  it  ?"  asked  Brooke,  who  could 
not  see  in  the  gloom  what  it  was  that  she 
offered. 

"A  ring,"  said  Talbot,  in  a  voice  that 
had  sunk  to  a  whisper. 

"A  ring,"  repeated  Brooke.  "Is  it  your 
ring,  Talbot  ?  Then  put  it  on  my  finger 
with  your  own  hands,  comrade,  and  I  swear 
to  you  by  a  soldier's  word  that  it  shall  nev 
er  leave  me,  either  in  life  or  death." 

Talbot  made  no  reply,  but  pu'c  the  ring, 
which  she  had  detached  from  her  own  fin 
ger,  upon  the  little  finger  of  Brooke's  left 
hand. 

Not  a  word  was  said  by  either,  and  there 
was  now  a  long  silence,  which  was  finally 
broken  by  Brooke. 

"  Talbot,"  said  he,  "  don't  you  think  you 
can  sleep  a  little  ?" 

"  I'll  try." 

"  Do.  If  you  could  only  sleep  a  little,  I 
should  feel  very  glad  indeed." 

"  I'll  try,"  said  Talbot  again,  "  and  you 
must  not  suppose  that  I  am  awake." 

Talbot  now  drew  off  for  a  little  distance, 
while  Brooke  remained  as  before,  and  was 
left  to  his  own  meditations.  All  was  still 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


75 


within,  and  outside  the  sounds  gradually 
lessened,  until  at  length  they  were  heard 
no  more.  Slowly  the  time  passed,  and  to 
Brooke  it  had  never  in  his  life  seemed  so 
long.  Not  a  sound  escaped  from  Talbot. 
Was  she  asleep  ? 

"  Talbot,  lad !"  said  Brooke,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Well,  Brooke,"  was  the  gentle  reply. 

"  Have  you  been  asleep  2" 

«  oh— well— a  little." 

"No,  Talbot,"  said  Brooke,  "you  have 
not  been  asleep.  And  you  say  that  you 
were  merely  to  make  it  pleasant  for  me. 
You  are  full  of  anguish,  Talbot,  but  you 
keep  up  a  cheerful  tone  so  as  not  to  add 
to  my  burdens.  You  see  I  know  it  all, 
Talbot,  and  understand  you  thoroughly,  so 
there  need  not  be  any  further  dissimula 
tion." 

"Brooke,"  said  Talbot,  "you  are  fever 
ish  from  anxiety,  and  fanciful.  Be  your 
self.  Sing  one  of  your  droll  songs.  Talk 
nonsense.  If  you  go  on  in  this  mournful 
strain,  you  will  make  me  break  down  ut 
terly." 

At  this  Brooke  drew  a  long  breath. 
"  Forgive  me,  Talbot,"  he  said.  "  I  really 
don't  know  what  has  come  over  me.  If  I 
were  alone  I  could  sleep  as  sound  as  a  top, 
but  anxiety  about  another  is  a  different 
thing.  Still,  you  are  right,  and  I  mean  to 
turn  the  conversation  to  some  other  sub 
ject.  A  song,  did  you  say  ?  Very  well. 
By-the-bye,  did  you  ever  hear  this  ? 

"  '  Oh,  Jenny  Jones  was  a  lovely  gal, 

And  her  mother  worked  a  mangle ; 
She  fell  in  love  with  a  flue  young  lad, 
Who  played  on  the  triangle.1 " 

Brooke  hummed  this,  and  then  stopped. 

"I  never  heard  it  before,"  said  Talbot. 
"Sing  the  rest.  Now  you  are  yourself 
again.  Whatever  you  feel,  Brooke,  don't 
speak  of  it,  but  laugh,  and  jest,  and  sing  old 
scraps  of  songs." 

"  I  won't,"  said  Brooke.  "  I'll  sing  noth 
ing  more,  and  I'll  say  nothing  more." 

Talbot  made  no  reply. 

Brooke  was  true  to  his  resolution,  and 
said  not  another  word.  Talbot  was  as  si 
lent  as  he.  Each  had  thoughts  which  were 
all  -  engrossing.  Neither  spoke,  but  each 
knew  perfectly  well  that  the  other  was 
wide  awake,  and  full  of  care. 

Thus  the  night  passed  away,  with  its 
long,  long  hours.  It  seemed  interminable; 
but  at  length  it  came  to  an  end,  as  all 
nights  must,  however  long.  The  dawn 


I  came,  and  the  two  could  see  each  other. 
Each  sat  propped  up  against  the  wall. 
Neither  one  spoke  for  a  long  time,  until  it 
was  broad  day,  when  Brooke,  who  had  been 
watching  Talbot's  face  until  it  grew  fully 
revealed,  broke  the  silence  with  a  slight 
cough.  Talbot  turned  and  smiled. 

"  Good  -  morning,"  said  Brooke.  "We 
seem  to  be  having  quite  a  spell  of  weather. 
Quite  a  fine  view  from  these  windows.  You 
haven't  been  out  yet,  I  suppose  ?" 

"Not  yet,"  said  Talbot. 

"  Well,"  said  Brooke,  "  we  must  take  a 
walk  after  breakfast : 

"  'Oh,  if  I  was  the  owner  of  London  town, 
I'd  buy  my  love  a  scarlet  gown— 
A  gown  of  scarlet  bombazine, 
And  away  we'd  travel  to  Gretna  Green.1 " 

"  Have  you  ever  been  there  ?"  asked  Tal* 
bot,  trying  to  assume  Brooke's  own  careless 
tone. 

"Yes,  Talbot;  of  course  I  have.  Every 
American  makes  a  pilgrimage  there  when 
|  he  visits  England.  As  the  poet  says : 

"  'I  have  been  there,  and  still  would  go ; 
'Tis  like  a  little  heaven  below.' 

Talbot!" 

Brooke's  voice  changed. 

"Well,  Brooke." 

"  Can  you  be  sure  of  yourself  this  day  ? 
Can  you  stand  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  Brooke." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Yes,  Brooke." 

"Oh, Talbot, Talbot!  don't  shrink!    Oh, 

Talbot,  don't  falter !     For  my  sake,  don't 

let  me  see  you  falter,  Talbot,  or  I  shall  break 

down.    Alone  I  could  let  myself  be  tortured 

to  death  by  Comanches,  and  I'd  sing  my 

death -song  as  bravely  as  Mullins  Bryan; 

|  but  mark  this,  Talbot:  if  you  break  down, 

•  if  you  even  falter,  I'm  a  lost,  ruined,  and 

dishonored  man.    Will  you  remember  that, 

Talbot?" 

As  he  spoke  these  words,  Brooke's  voice 
had  a  thrill  in  it  that  Talbot  had  never 
heard  before. 

"  Brooke,"  said  she, "  I  will  be  firm.  Rath 
er  than  show  any  weakness,  I  will  die." 

"  That's  very  good,"  said  Brooke.  "  Your 
hand  on  it,  Talbot," 

She  held  out  her  hand.  He  pressed  it 
with  a  convulsive  grasp. 

"  You  will  not  forget  ?"  he  asked,  eagerly. 

"I  cannot  forget,"  she  answered,  simply. 

"  Good  lad  1"  said  Brooke.    He  dropped 


76 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


her  hand,  and  at  once  resumed  his  careless  | 
manner.     "And  now,"  said  he,  "we   can 
continue  our  music : 

"  'For  there  the  historic  blacksmith  stands—' 

Gretna  Green,  you  know — 

" '  And  hammers  away  at  the  marriage  bauds.' 

Only  he  don't  do  so  now,  you  know,  for 
he's  dead  and  gone,  and  they've  got  new 
marriage  laws." 

Not  long  after  this  a  man  came  up  with 
a  flask  of  wine  and  some  rolls.  Brooke 
took  them  from  him  and  brought  them 
over. 

"  Talbot,"  said  he,  "  you  don't  want  to 
eat — in  fact,  at  this  moment  you  hate  food. 
But  while  I  am  with  you  I'm  your  master, 
and  I  now  command  you  to  eat.  Moreover, 
let  me  add  that  it  is  necessary  to  eat,  or 
else  you  may  grow  faint ;  and  then,  when 
there  comes  a  chance  of  escape,  you  won't 
be  able  to  walk,  and  I  shall  have  to  carry 
you,  don't  you  see  ?  And  now  won't  you 
eat,  just  for  the  sake  of  saving  me  from  un 
necessary  fatigue  ?." 

"  I  will  eat  if  you  will,"  said  Talbot. 

"  Eat !"  exclaimed  Brooke.  "  What !  I 
eat?  Oh,  well,  I  don't  mind.  For  that 
matter,  I'd  just  as  soon  eat  a  pair  of  boots 
as  not." 

He  broke  off  a  fragment  of  bread  and 
ate  it.  Talbot  did  the  same,  and  thus  both 
forced  themselves  to  eat,  and  each  did  this 
for  the  sake  of  the  other. 

They  said  nothing  while  thus  forcing 
themselves  to  eat.  The  thought  that  was 
present  to  each  was  enough  to  occupy  the 
mind,  and  it  was  one  which  could  not  be 
put  in  words.  Brooke  saw  Death  awaiting 
himself,  and,  worse  than  that,  he  saw  Tal 
bot— alone,  friendless,  despairing,  in  the 
hands  of  remorseless  fiends.  Talbot,  on  the 
other  hand,  saw  Deatli  awaiting  Brooke, 
and  never  could  shake  off  the  torturing 
thought  that  his  death  was  owing  to  her, 
and  that  he  was  virtually  dying  for  her. 
Had  it  not  been  for  her  he  might  still  have 
been  safe.  And  it  seemed  to  her  to  be  a 
very  hard  and  bitter  thing  that  such  a  man 
as  this  should  have  to  die  in  such  a  way, 
and  that  she  should  be  the  cause.  Ah !  it 
became  very  hard  for  her  to  keep  her  prom 
ise  to  maintain  her  coolness,  and  to  force 
back  those  tears  and  those  cries  that  were 
ready  to  burst  forth  beyond  control.  Yet 
such  was  this  girl's  high  nature  that  she 
could  crush  down  her  weak  woman's  heart, 


and  turn  toward  Brooke  a  face  in  which 
there  was  not  a  trace  of  emotion,  and  speak 
in  a  voice  without  a  tremor. 

Soon  a  man  appeared  once  more,  thrust 
ing  his  head  up  into  the  loft,  and  in  a  stern 
voice  he  ordered  them  to  come  down. 

Brooke  rose.  He  did  not  look  at  Talbot. 
He  walked  toward  the  ladder,  droning  out 
in  a  nasal  whine,  to  a  most  extraordinary 
tune,  the  following  words : 

"Come  on,  yon  tarnal  Mingo, 

I'll  make  yon  walk  your  chalks  ; 
D'ye  think  I  care,  by  jingo ! 

For  all  yer  tomahawks  ? 
I'm  more  of  Salamander 

And  less  of  mortal  man : 
You  cannot  shake  my  dander, 

I'm  a  rale  American  !" 

At  the  opening  he  paused,  and  looked 
back  at  Talbot's  pale  face. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  the'  death-song  of 
Mullins  Bryan  ?"  he  asked. 

"  No,"  said  Talbot. 

"  H'm !  I  suppose  not,"  said  Brooke. 

He  then  went  down,  and  Talbot  followed. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

HOW    TALBOT    HAS    LIFE    AND     FREEDOM     OFFERED, 
AND  HOW  SHE   DECLINES   THE   OFFER. 

OUTSIDE,  Lopez  was  seated  upon  a  stone 
which  stood  close  by  the  foundation  wall 
of  the  mill,  and  near  him  were  about  a  doz 
en  of  his  followers.  The  rest  of  the  band 
were  at  a  distance,  and  were  all  variously 
occupied.  Some  were  lolling  on  the  grass, 
smoking ;  others  were  lying  down  as  though 
trying  to  sleep ;  others  were  squatting  on 
their  haunches  in  groups,  talking  and  ges 
ticulating  ;  others  were  wandering  away  in 
different  directions. 

All  this  was  taken  in  at  a  glance  by 
Brooke  as  he  came  out,  followed  by  Talbot, 
after  which  he  turned  and  faced  Lopez. 
The  latter  regarded  him  with  sharp  scru 
tiny  for  some  time,  after  which  he  looked 
in  the  same  way  at  Talbot.  The  gaze  was 
returned  by  Talbot  calmly,  quietly,  and  un 
shrinkingly,  without  boldness,  and  yet  with 
out  shyness.  It  was  as  though  she  wished 
to  read  the  true  character  of  this  man,  so  as 
to  see  what  hope  there  might  be. 

"  Your  name !"  said  Lopez  to  Brooke,  in 
a  tone  of  command. 

"Raleigh  Brooke,"  said  he. 

"  Senor  Brooke,"  said  Lopez,  "  you  must 
be  aware  that  the  accounts  which  you  gave 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


77 


of  yourself  last  night  were  very  contradic 
tory.  Even  at  the  best,  you  are,  according 
to  your  own  statement,  a  newspaper  corre 
spondent,  which  in  our  eyes  is  the  same  as  a 
spy.  But  more  than  this,  you  confess  your 
self  to  be  an  American,  which  makes  it  still 
worse.  And  so,  senor,  you  see  that  you  are 
in  an  awkward  position.  But  this  is  not 
all.  There  is  something  more  that  I  must 
ask.  You  speak  of  having  come  on  in 
trains — that  were  stopped.  Were  you  not 
on  that  train  which  was  stopped  by  the 
Carlists?" 

"  No,"  said  Brooke,  firmly,  and  without  a 
moment's  hesitation. 

That  was  false,  of  course ;  but  Brooke  had 
already  identified  himself  with  Talbot,  for 
her  sake,  and  had  told  a  story  to  which  he 
was  now  forced  to  adhere.  It  would  have 
been  far  better  if  he  had  told  the  truth  at 
the  outset,  but  it  wras  too  late  now.  So  he 
answered  "  No." 

"  One  of  our  men  came  on  by  the  train 
in  whicb  you  say  you  came,"  continued  Lo 
pez,  "  and  has  no  recollection  of  you." 

"Very  possible,"  said  Brooke,  coolly; 
"  and  I  don't  suppose  I  have  any  recollec 
tion  of  him.  People  can't  remember  all 
who  come  and  go  in  railway  trains,  even  in 
America, where  all  the  carriages  are  in  one; 
but  here,  where  each  car  is  divided  into 
coaches,  how  can  one  know  anything  about 
his  fellow-passengers  ?" 

"  I  came  in  the  train  that  was  stopped  by 
the  Carlists,"  said  Lopez. 

'  Did  you  see  me  there  ?"  asked  Brooke. 
'  No,"   said  Lopez ;   "  but  there  was  a 
pr  est." 

'  Was  that  the  priest  ?"  asked  Brooke, 
pointing  to  Talbot. 

"No,"  said  Lopez— "  not  at  all.  This 
priest  that  I  refer,  to  had  a  beard,  and  wore 
spectacles :  he  was  a  totally  different  man 
from  your  friend." 

Lopez  now  paused  and  reflected  for  a 
few  moments. 

"  Come,"  said  he  at  length, "  I'll  give  you 
a  chance.  I'm  not  cruel ;  I  hate  bloodshed ; 
and  I  don't  care  about  shooting  prisoners 
even  when  they're  spies.  We  all  look  on 
you  as  a  spy,  but  I'll  give  you  a  chance  to 
save  yourself.  I'll  tell  you  all  frankly.  It 
is  this : 

"  I  myself  came  on  in  that  train  that  was 
stopped  by  the  Carlists.  In  that  same 
train  there  was  a  party  of  English  ladies 
and  gentlemen.  All  of  the  passengers,  my 
self  included,  were  robbed ;  but,  mark  you, 


while  the  natives  were  permitted  to  go 
away  in  safety,  these  English — ladies,  mind 
you,  as  well  as  gentlemen — were  detained 
by  the  Carlists.  Now,  of  course,  these  so- 
called  Carlists  are  merely  brigands,  or  else 
they  would  not  have  captured  and  robbed 
a  party  of  inoffensive  travellers,  and  still 
less  would  they  have  detained  them  as  pris 
oners.  They  are  brigands,  then,  and  of 
course  they  intend  to  exact  a  ransom  from 
their  prisoners,  and  of  course  if  the  ran 
som  is  not  paid  they  will  shoot  every  one 
of  them. 

"Well,  after  I  had  escaped  from  their 
clutches  I  communicated  at  once  with  the 
military  authorities,  and  reported  the  cap 
ture  of  these  travellers.  They  immediately 
ordered  me  to  take  a  detachment  of  men 
and  set  off  in  pursuit.  This  is  our  present 
errand.  You  now  know  all ;  and  if  you 
are  a  true  man,  you  will  at  once  not  only 
j  sympathize  with  our  present  undertaking, 
but  you  will  lend  us  all  the  aid  in  your 
!  power  ;  you  will  tell  us  all  you  know ;  you 
|  will  be  as  frank  with  rue  as  I  have  been 
with  you,  and  help  us  to  save  these  unfort 
unate  ladies  from  a  fate  worse  than  death." 

"  Senor  Captain,"  said  Brooke,  without 
hesitating  for  one  instant, "  I  thank  you  for 
!  your  frankness,  but  it  is  of  no  possible  value 
i  to  me.  I  have  come  from  a  different  direc- 
i  tion,  and  cannot  be  of  the  slightest  assist- 
'  ance  in  this  matter." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Lopez,  coldly.  ''As 
I  said  before,  I  am  merciful,  and  hate  shoot 
ing  prisoners  in  cold  blood.  But  mark 
this :  if  it  is  necessary  I  will  not  hesitate. 
I  will  allow  you  this  day  to  think  over 
what  I  have  said.  And  now,  what  about 
this  priest  ?" 

"  He  is  an  English  priest,"  said  Brooke, 
calmly,  "  and  cannot  understand  Spanish." 

"  Very  well,  you  shall  act  as  interpreter. 
In  the  first  place,  his  name  and  residence  ?" 

"  Sydney  Talbot,"  said  Brooke,  "  of  Lon 
don." 

"  What  are  you  doing  in  this  country  ?" 
asked  Lopez  directly  of  Talbot. 

"I  ca^me  on  a  visit  to  Barcelona,"  said 
Talbot  in  reply,  as  Brooke  translated  the 
question. 

"  For  what  purpose  ?" 

"  On  a  visit  to  friends  ?" 

"  What  friends  ?" 

"  English  people." 

"  Name  ?" 

"  Rivers,"  said  Talbot,  calmly,  and  with 
out  a  moment's  hesitation.  All  this  was 


78 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


news  to  Brooke,  who  had  never  learned 
her  private  history  or  the  secret  of  her  jour 
ney  to  Spain. 

"  You  do  not  know  the  language  ?  You 
cannot  have  been  long  in  Spain  ?" 

"No — only  a  week." 

"A  very  short  visit,"  said  Lopez.  "Did 
you  come  so  far  only  to  remain  a  week  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Talbot,  "  I  expected  to  stay 
much  longer." 

"  Why  did  you  not  stay  ?" 

"Because  I  found  on  my  arrival  that  the 
family  had  left  Barcelona." 

"Where  did  they  go?" 

"  I  have  no  idea." 

"  Were  they  not  expecting  you  ?" 

"  I  supposed  that  they  were  expecting 
me,  and  I  am  quite  unable  to  account  for 
their  departure  and  their  failure  to  meet 
me." 

"And  so  you  set  out  on  your  return 
home?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Well*"  said  Lopez,  "  your  story  is  a 
little  absurd,  yet  not  at  all  improbable.  I 
dare  say  there  was  a  mistake  somewhere." 

"There  must  have  been  —  yet  I  don't 
know." 

"  Young  sir,"  said  Lopez,  after  a  pause, 
"you  carry  your  character  in  your  face. 
You  at  least  are  not  a  spy.  Upon  that  I 
would  stake  my  life.  I  wish  I  could  say 
as  much  for  your  companion.  All  Span 
iards — at  least  all  Republicans — would  not 
let  a  priest  off  so  easily ;  but  you  are  differ 
ent,  and  I  could  no  more  suspect  you  than 
I  could  suspect  the  apostle  St.  John. 
Senor,  you  are  free ;  you  may  go  on  your 
way  at  once." 

"  Seiior,  you  are  free,  and  may  go  on  your 
way  at  once,"  repeated  Brooke,  as  a  flush 
of  joy  passed  over  his  face.  "  Go,  Taibot, 
go,"  lie  added  earnestly ;  "  go  at  once !" 

But  Talbot  did  not  move. 

"I  am  deeply  grateful,  captain,"  said  she, 
"  but  I  prefer  to  remain  with  my  friend." 

"  Talbot !"  cried  Brooke. 

"  Tell  him  what  I  say,"  was  Talbot's 
calm  reply. 

"  You  are  mad !"  groaned  Brooke. 

"  What  is  all  this  ?"  cried  Lopez,  angri 
ly.  "  What  does  the  priest  say  ?" 

"The  priest  says  that  he  will  not  go," 
replied  Brooke — "  that  he  will  stay  by  me." 

"Oh,  he  does,  does  he?"  said  Lopez. 
"  Well,  that's  all  the  better  for  you.  You'll 
need  him,  especially  if  you  persist  in  your 
obstinacy." 


Brooke  translated  this,  and  Talbot  lis 
tened  without  a  word. 

Brooke  was  now  ordered  back  into  the 
mill,  and  he  went,  Talbot  following.  On 
reaching  the  loft,  they  both  were  silent  for 
a  long  time.  Brooke  spoke  first. 

"  Oh,  Talbot,  Talbot  1"  he  cried,  in  a 
reproachful  voice,  "  wyhy  didn't  you  go  ? 
You  had  the  chance." 

"Go!"  exclaimed  Talbot,  "What!  go 
and  leave  you  ?" 

"  Of  course,"  said  Brooke. 

"  What !  when  you  have  risked  your  life, 
and  are  in  such  danger  of  death,  for  me? 
Oh,  Brooke,  Brooke!  Is  this,  then,  your 
opinion  of  me  ?  Can  you  think  me  capa 
ble  of  such  utter  baseness?" 

"  Talbot,"  said  Brooke,  "  it  was  to  save 
your  life  that  I  left  the  tower,  and  now  you 
will  not  save  yourself." 

"Save  myself!  save  my  worthless  life! 
I  should  scorn  it  if  I  must  leave  you  to 
die.  Never !  never  !  Now,  may  God  do  so 
to  me,  and  more  also,  if  aught  but  death 
part  thee  and  me — that  is,  till  we  escape 
and  are  out  of  danger.  We  must  escape 
together.  You  shall  never  lay  down  your 
life  for  me." 

Talbot  spoke  with  the  air  of  one  whose 
resolution  was  immovable.  Brooke's  agita 
tion  was  intense. 

"  Talbot,"  he  cried,  "  you  are  mad.  You 
don't,  know  these  men.  They  are  remorse 
less  fiends.  They  will  wreak  their  ven 
geance  on  you  as  well  as  on  me." 

"  Let  them,"  said  Talbot,  firmly. 

"  I  tell  you,"  cried  Brooke,  in  vehement 
tones,  "that  I  have  a  duty  to  perform  and 
a  battle  to  fight.  I  have  to  be  constant 
until  death  to  my  duty;  but  if  you  stay  by 
me — if  you  remain — if  you  are  still  in  peril 
— oh,  Talbot !  I  shall  be  false  to  my  duty — 
for  your  sake." 

"No,  Brooke,"  said  Talbot,  "you  will 
never  be  false  to  your  duty  for  my  sake. 
You  will  be  true,  and  I  wTill  stand  by  you. 
You  shall  never  see  me  deserting  you.  If 
you  have  any  friendship  for  me,  you  will 
be  glad  to  see  your  friend  by  your  side  in 
the  hour  of  your  trial." 

"It's  not  that  —  it's  not  that!"  cried 
Brooke.  "Good  heavens!  you  will  not 
understand.  Do  you  not  see  that  if  you 
remain  you  will  soon  be  alone  in  the  world, 
and  then — who  will  defend  you  ?" 

"I  understand  well  what  you  mean," 
said  Talbot,  firmly.  "  You  expect  to  die, 
and  do  not  wish  to  leave  me  here  alone 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


79 


among  these  ruffians.  Never  fear  for  me. 
Heaven  will  protect  me.  But  you  must 
know  this  well,  and  I  say  it  once  for  all, 
I  will  not  leave  you.  I  cannot  be  false  or 
dishonorable.  I  can  die.  Yes,  Brooke,  I 
can  die,  for  I  remember  how  you  told  me 
that  I  am  an  English  lad.  We  Talbots 
have  given  up  our  lives  in  every  genera 
tion  for  what  we  believe  to  be  the  good 
cause ;  and  the  last  of  the  Talbots  can  die 
gladly  rather  than  desert  a  friend." 

Brooke  turned  away.  A  sob  burst  from 
him.  In  vain  he  tried  to  restrain  it.  Then 
there  followed  an  exceedingly  bitter  cry. 

"Talbot!  Talbot!  By  heaven,  you'll 
break  my  heart !" 

"  Oh,  Brooke  !"  cried  Talbot,  "  be  calm- 
on,  be  calm  !  I  say  to  you,  as  you  said  to 
me,  be  calm  for  my  sake ;  for  if  you  lose 
your  self-control  I  shall  break  down  ut 
terly." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

IN  WHICH  BROOKE  AND  TALBOT  EXCHANGE  CONFI 
DENCES. 

AFTER  some  time  Brooke  grew  calmer. 

"And  now,"  said  Talbot,  "  tell  me  all 
that  took  place  between  you  and  this  offi 
cer,  for  I  have  not  understood." 

Brooke  told  her  all. 

"  And  why  can't  you  do  what  he  asks  ?" 
said  Talbot,  in  surprise.  "  Why  can't  you 
take  them  to  that  castle  ?  You  were  there, 
and  when  there  you  say  you  recognized 
the  Carlist  chief  himself,  the  very  man  who 
stopped  the  train.  He  must  have  the  Eng 
lish  prisoners  there.  Do  you  mean  to  say 
that  you  will  not  help  those  poor  cap 
tives?" 

u  I  cannot,"  said  Brooke. 

"  Cannot  ?" 

•'Look  here,  Talbot!  I've  thought  it 
all  over  and  over,  and  I  cannot.  Honor 
forbids.  Let  me  explain.  You  see,  while 
wandering  about  here,  I  have  frequently 
fallen  into  the  hands  of  either  party,  and 
have  often  been  in  as  great  danger  as  now, 
yet  I  have  always  escaped.  More  than 
this,  I  have  papers  from  the  leading  men 
of  both  sides,  which  testify  to  my  charac 
ter.  I  am  therefore  in  honor  bound  never, 
under  any  circumstances,  to  betray  one  par 
ty  to  the  other,  and  that,  too,  no  matter 
what  my  own  feelings  may  be.  I  came 
here  as  a  neutral,  a  stranger,  a  correspond 
ent,  to  get  information  for  the  distant 


American  public.  That  is  my  business 
here.  But  the  moment  I  begin  to  betray 
one  of  these  parties  to  the  other  in  any 
shape  or  way,  the  moment  I  communicate 
to  others  the  information  which  I  may  have 
gained  in  confidence,  that  moment  I  be 
come  an  infernal  scoundrel." 

"  True,  Brooke,  very  true  !"  said  Talbot; 
"  but  don't  you  see  how  different  this  thing- 
is  ?  Here  is  a  party  of  travellers  captured 
by  brigands,  and  held  to  ransom.  You  are 
merely  asked  to  show  the  way  to  their 
prison,  so  that  they  may  be  set  free  by  their 
friends.  What  betrayal  of  confidence  is 
there  in  this  ?" 

"  I  say  that  in  any  way  in  which  I  tell 
one  of  these  parties  about  the  doings  of 
the  other,  I  betray  the  confidence  which 
has  been  placed  in  me." 

"And  I  say,  Brooke,  that  if  you  leave 
these  English  ladies  in  the  hands  of  mer 
ciless  villains  to  languish  in  captivity,  to 
suffer  torment,  and  perhaps  to  die  a  cruel 
death,  you  will  be  guilty  of  an  unpardon 
able  sin  —  an  offence  so  foul  that  it  will 
haunt  your  last  hours  !" 

"  No  woman,"  said  Brooke,  "  can  under 
stand  a  man's  sense  of  honor." 

"  Sir,"  said  Talbot,  with  indescribable 
haughtiness,  "  you  forget  my  name.  Trust 
me,  sir,  no  Talbot  ever  lived  who  failed 
one  jot  or  tittle  in  the  extremest  demand 
of  honor.  I,  sir,  am  a  Talbot,  and  have  no 
need  to  go  to  you  for  information  on  points 
of  honor.  More  than  this,  I  say  that  you 
are  utterly  wrong ;  and  that  if  you  leave 
those  English  ladies  in  the  hands  of  these 
Spanish  miscreants  you  will  do  foul  offence, 
not  only  to  the  honor  of  a  gentleman,  but 
1  even  to  the  instincts  of  humanity." 

"  Forgive  me,  Talbot,"  said  Brooke,  meek 
ly.  "I  don't  mean  what  you  think.  When 
I  spoke  of  a  man's  sense  of  honor,  I  refer 
red  to  his  life  of  action,  with  all  its  conflict 
of  duty  and  honor,  and  all  those  compli 
cated  motives  of  which  a  woman  in  her  re 
tirement  can  know  nothing." 

"  Believe  me,  Brooke,"  said  Talbot,  ear- 
nestly, "  women  who  are  lookers-on  are  of1 
ten  better  and  safer  judges  than  men  who 
are  in  the  midst  of  action.  Trust  me,  and 
take  my  advice  in  this  matter.  What !  is 
it  possible  that  you  can  have  the  heart  to 
leave  these  English  ladies  to  a  fate  of  hor 
ror  among  brigands  ?" 

"  You  put  it  strongly,  Talbot,  but  that  is 
only  a  partial  view.  In  brief,  you  ask  me 
to  betray  to  the  enemy  a  place  which  I  may 


80 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


inform  you  happens  to  be  one  of  the  cardi 
nal  points  in  the  strategy  of  the  Carlist 
generals.  I  do  not  know  for  certain  that 
the  ladies  are  there ;  and  if  they  are,  I  do 
not  believe  that  they  will  be  badly  treated. 
A  ransom  will  perhaps  be  exacted,  but  noth 
ing  more.  On  the  whole,  I  should  for  rather 
fall  into  the  hands  of  the  Carlists  than  the 
Republicans.  The  Carlists  are  generous 
mountaineers,  the  peasantry  of  the  North; 
the  Republicans  are  the  communist  mobs 
of  the  Southern  cities.  I  have  seen  very 
much  of  both  sides,  and  think  the  Carlists 
better  men  every  way — more  chivalrous, 
more  merciful,  and  more  religious.  I  am 
not  afraid  about  those  prisoners.  I  feel 
convinced  that  when  the  general  hears  of 
their  capture  he  will  set  them  free  himself. 
At  any  rate,  I  cannot  interfere.  To  do  so 
would  be  a  hideous  piece  of  treachery  on 
my  part.  For  me  to  betray  to  the  Repub 
licans  this  great  and  important  Carlist  for 
tress,  which  has  become  known  to  me  by 
the  favor  and  the  confidence  of  the  Carlist 
chiefs,  would  be  a  thing  of  horror  and  dis 
honor.  I  would  die  first,  Talbot.  So  don't 
say  any  more.  If  anything  could  make  me 
false  to  my  honor  and  duty,  it  would  be 
your  entreaties.  I  may  be  wrong,  after  all, 
but  I  must  act  by  my  own  sense  of  right. 
Would  you  wish  me  to  save  my  life,  and 
always  afterward  have  the  thought  that  I 
had  stained  my  honor  ?" 

"  No,  Brooke,"  said  Talbot ;  "  and  since 
you  feel  in  this  way  I  will  say  no  more 
about  it." 

Silence  now  followed.  Brooke  seated 
himself  on  the  floor  with  his  back  against 
the  wall,  and  Talbot  stood  looking  at  him 
as  he  thus  sat. 

This  man,  who  led  a  life  which  required 
some  of  the  qualities  of  the  hero,  had  noth 
ing  particularly  heroic  in  his  outward  as 
pect.  He  was  a  man  of  medium  size,  and 
sinewy,  well-knit  frame.  He  had  keen, 
gray  eyes,  which  noticed  everything,  and 
could  penetrate  to  the  inner  core  of  things ; 
close-cropped  hair,  short  serviceable  beard, 
of  that  style  which  is  just  now  most  affect 
ed  by  men  of  restless  energy;  a  short, 
straight  nose,  and  a  general  air  of  master 
ful  self-restraint  and  self-possession.  Not 
a  handsome  man,  strictly  speaking,  was  our 
friend  Brooke ;  not  by  any  means  a  "  lady's 
man ;"  but  he  was  something  better,  inas 
much  as  he  was  a  manly  man,  one  who 
would  be  trusted  thoroughly  and  followed 
blindly  by  other  men,  ay,  and  by  women 


too;  for,  after  all,  it  is  not  the  lady's  man 
who  is  appreciated  by  true  women,  but  the 
man's  man.  To  such  as  these  the  best  sort 
of  women  delight  to  do  reverence.  Add  to 
this  Brooke's  abrupt  manner,  rather  harsh 
voice,  inconsequential  talk,  habit  of  saying 
one  thing  while  thinking  of  something 
totally  different,  love  of  drollery,  and  dry, 
short  laugh,  and  then  you  have  Brooke 
complete,  who  is  here  described  simply  be 
cause  there  has  not  been  any  very  conven 
ient  place  for  describing  him  before. 

Shortly  after  the  examination  of  the  pris 
oners,  the  greater  part  of  the  band  had 
gone  away  with  the  captain,  and  only  half 
a  dozen  men  were  left  behind  on  guard. 
After  Brooke  had  grown  tired  of  his  own 
meditations,  he  wandered  toward  the  win 
dow  and  looked  out.  Here  he  stood  watch 
ing  the  men  below,  and  studying  their  faces 
until  he  had  formed  his  own  conclusion  as 
to  the  character  of  each  one. 

"  I'm  trying,"  said  he  to  Talbot,  who 
came  near,  "  to  find  out  which  one  of  these 
fellows  is  the  most  susceptible  of  bribery 
and  corruption.  They're  all  a  hard  lot ;  the 
trouble  is  that  one  watches  the  other  so 
closely  that  I  can't  get  a  fair  chance." 

"I  wonder  where  the  others  have  gone," 
said  Talbot, 

"  Oh,  they've  gone  off  to  search  for  the 
prisoners,  of  course,"  said  Brooke.  "  I  don't 
believe  they'll  find  anything  about  them  on 
this  road;  and  as  for  the  castle,  they'll  be 
unable  to  do  anything  there  unless  they 
take  cannon." 

At  length  the  opportunity  arrived  for 
which  Brooke  had  been  waiting.  The 
guards  had  wandered  off  to  a  little  dis 
tance,  and  only  one  man  was  left.  He  was 
just  below  at  the  door  of  the  mill.  Brooke 
was  glad  to  see  that  he  was  the  ugliest  of 
the  lot,  and  the  very  one  whom  he  had 
mentally  decided  upon  as  being  the  most 
corruptible.  Upon  this  man  he  began  to 
try  his  arts. 

"Good-morning,  senor,"  said  he,  insinu 
atingly. 

The  man  looked  up  in  a  surly  way,  and 
growled  back  something. 

"  Do  you  smoke  ?"  asked  Brooke. 

The  man  grinned. 

Upon  this  Brooke  flung  down  a  small 
piece  of  tobacco,  and  then  began  to  ad 
dress  himself  to  further  conversation.  But 
alas  for  his  hopes !  He  had  just  begun  to 
ask  where  the  others  had  gone  and  where 
the  man  belonged,  when  a  flash  burst  forth, 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


81 


and  a  rifle  ball  sung  past  him  through  the 
window  just  above  his  head.  It  was  one 
of  the  other  ruffians  who  had  done  this, 
who  at  the  same  time  advanced,  and  with 
an  oath  ordered  Brooke  to  hold  no  com 
munication  with  the  men. 

"  I  may  stand  at  the  window  and  look 
out,  I  suppose  ?"  said  Brooke,  coolly. 

"We  have  orders  to  allow  no  commu 
nication  with  the  prisoners  whatever.  If 
you  speak  another  word  you'll  get  a  bullet 
through  you." 

Upon  this  Brooke  concluded  that  his 
plan  was  a  failure. 

Evening  came  at  length,  and  the  dark 
ness  deepened.  The  band  were  still  ab 
sent.  The  men  below  were  perfectly  quiet, 
and  seemed  to  be  asleep. 

"  I  have  a  proposal  to  make,"  said  Tal- 
bot,  "  which  is  worth  something  if  you  will 
only  do  it." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  I  have  been  thinking  about  it  all  day. 
It  is  this :  Take  this  priest's  dress  again, 
and  go.  The  priest,  you  know,  is  not  a 
prisoner.  He  stays  voluntarily.  He  has 
leave  to  go  whenever  he  wishes.  Now,  you 
are  the  real  priest,  I  am  not.  I  am  wearing 
your  dress.  Take  it  back,  and  go." 

Brooke  looked  at  her  for  a  few  moments 
in  silence.  It  was  too  dark  for  her  to  see 
the  look  that  he  gave  her. 

At  length,  with  his  usual  short  laugh,  he 
said, 

"  Well,  that's  a  refreshing  sort  of  a  pro 
posal  to  make,  too,  after  all  that  has  passed 
between  us !" 

"  Why  not  ?"  asked  Talbot.  "  What  ob 
jection  is  there  to  it  ?" 

"  Such  a  question,"  said  Brooke, "  does 
'  not  deserve  an  answer." 

"  My  plan  is  feasible  enough,  and  quite 
safe  too." 

"  Nonsense !  And  what,  pray,  is  to  be 
come  of  you  ?" 

"  Never  mind  that.  Think  of  yourself, 
Brooke,  for  once  in  your  life.  To  stay  here 
is  certain  death  for  you.  This  is  your  very 
last  chance." 

Brooke  was  silent  for  a  little  time. 

"Well,"  said  Talbot,  "  will  you  go  ?" 

"Oh,  Talbot!  Talbot!"  cried  Brooke; 
"  how  can  you  have  the  heart  to  make  such 
a  proposal  to  me?  I  have  told  you  that 
the  only  thing  that  moves  me  is  the 
thought  of  your  clanger.  Death  is  nothing 
to  me ;  I've  faced  it  hundreds  of  times." 

"  It  is  preposterous  to  talk  in  that  way  !" 


said  Talbot,  excitedly.  "My  danger?  I 
deny  that  there  is  any  danger  for  me.  As 
an  English  lady,  I  shall  be  safe  in  any 
event.  I'm  sorry  I  ever  took  this  disguise. 
If  you  take  it  back  you  can  go  away  now 
in  safety.  When  they  find  that  you  have 
gone,  they  may  perhaps  threaten  a  little, 
but  that  is  all.  They  will  have  nothing 
against  me,  and  will,  no  doubt,  set  me  free. 
This  captain  seems  to  be  a  gentleman,  and 
I  should  have  no  fear  of  him.  I  believe 
that  after  the  first  explosion  he  would  treat 
me  with  respect,  and  let  me  go." 

"  And  so  you  would  really  let  me  go  ?" 
said  Brooke,  after  a  long  pause,  in  a  very 
low  voice. 

"  Gladly,  gladly,"  said  Talbot. 

"And  stay  here  alone,  in  a  new  charac 
ter,  ignorant  of  the  language,  to  face  the 
return  of  the  mad  and  furious  crowd  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  They  would  tear  you  to  pieces,"  cried 
Brooke. 

"  They  would  not." 

"  They  would." 

"  Then  let  them.  I  can  die,"  said  Tal 
bot,  calmly. 

"And  die  forme?" 

"  Yes,  rather  than  let  you  die  for  me." 

"  And  you  think  I  am  capable  of  going 
away  ?"  said  Brooke,  in  a  faltering  voice. 

At  this  Talbot  was  utterly  silent.  Nei 
ther  spoke  a  word  for  a  long  time. 

"  Talbot,  lad,"  said  Brooke,  at  length,  in 
a  gentle  voice. 

"  Well,  Brooke !" 

"  I  am  glad  that  I  met  with  you." 

"Are  yon, Brooke?" 

"  I  should  like  to  live,"  he  continued,  in 
a  far-off  tone,  like  one  soliloquizing,  "  after 
having  met  with  you ;  but  if  I  cannot  live, 
I  shall  be  glad  to  think  that  I  have  ever 
known  you." 

Talbot  said  nothing  to  this,  and  there 
was  another  long  silence. 

"By-the-bye,"  said  Brooke,  at  last,  "I 
should  like  to  tell  you  something,  Talbot, 
in  case  you  should  ever  happen  to  meet 
with  a  certain  friend  of  mine— you  might 
mention  how  you  met  with  me,  and  so  on." 

"  Yes,"  said  Talbot,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  This  friend,"  said  Brooke,  "  is  a  girl." 
He  paused. 

"  Yes,"  said  Talbot,  in  the  same  voice. 

"It  was  in  Cuba  that  I  met  with  her. 
Her  name  is  Dolores." 

"  Dolores— what  ?" 

"  Dolores  Garcia." 


82 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


"  I  shall  remember  the  name." 

"I  was  correspondent  there, in  just  such 
a  country  as  this,  between  two  hostile  forces. 
One  evening  I  came  to  a  place  where  a  gang 
of  insurgent  Cubans  were  engaged  in  the 
pleasing  task  of  burning  a  house.  As  it 
happened,  I  was  wearing  the  dress  com 
mon  to  the  insurgents,  and  passed  for  one 
of  themselves.  Pressing  into  the  house,  I 
found  two  ladies  —  a  young  girl  and  her 
mother — in  an  agony  of  terror,  surrounded 
by  a  howling  crowd  of  ruffians.  In  a  few 
words  I  managed  to  assure  them  of  my 
help.  I  succeeded  in  personating  a  Cuban 
leader  and  in  getting  them  away.  Then  I 
passed  through  the  crowd  outside,  and,  get 
ting  horses,  I  hurried  the  ladies  off.  Event 
ually  we  all  readied  Havana  in  safety. 

"  I  learned  that  an  attack  had  been  made 
on  the  plantation,  that  Sefior  Garcia  had 
been  killed,  and  that  as  I  came  up  the  gang- 
was  plundering  the  place  and  threatening 
to  destroy  the  women. 

"  Gratitude  had  the  effect  of  making 
this  young  girl  Dolores  most  devotedly 
attached  to  me.  In  the  course  of  our 
journey  she  evinced  her  affection  in  a 
thousand  ways.  She  was  very  young,  and 
very  beautiful,  and  I  could  not  help  loving 
her.  I  was  also  deeply  moved  by  her  pas 
sionate  love  for  me,  and  so  I  asked  her  to 
be  my  wife,  and  she  consented.  After  reach 
ing  Havana,  Spanish  manners  did  not  allow 
of  our  seeing  much  of  one  another.  Short 
ly  afterward  I  had  to  return  to  the  seat  of 
war  to  finish  my  engagement,  and  bade  her 
good-bye  for  two  or  three  months.  I  ex 
pected  at  the  end  of  that  time  to  return  to 
Havana  and  marry  her. 

u  Well,  I  went  away  and  heard  nothing 
more  from  her.  At  the  end  of  that  time  I 
returned,  when,  to  my  amazement,  I  learn 
ed  that  she  had  gone  to  Spain,  and  found 
a  letter  from  her  which  gave  me  the  whole 
reason  for  her  departure.  I  had  told  her 
before  that  I  myself  was  going  to  Spain  in 
the  course  of  another  year,  so  she  expressed 
a  hope  ot  seeing  me  there.  The  place  to 
which  she  was  going  was  Pampeluna.  I've 
already  tried  to  find  her  there,  but  in  vain. 
The  fact  is,  things  have  been  so  disturbed 
about  here  that  people  have  changed  their 
abodes,  and  can  no  longer  be  traced ;  and 
so  I  have  never  come  upon  the  track  of 
Dolores.  And  I  mention  this  to  you,  Tal- 
bot,  so  that  if  you  should  ever,  by  any 
chance,  happen  to  meet  her,  you  may  tell 
her  that  you  saw  me,  and  that  I  had  been 


hunting  after  her  all  through  Spain.  I  dare 
say  it  will  soothe  her,  for  she  loved  me  most 
passionately,  and  must  often  have  wonder 
ed  why  I  never  came  for  her.  In  fact,  she 
was  so  gentle,  so  delicate,  so  sensitive,  and  yet 
so  intense  in  her  feelings,  that  I  have  often 
feared  that  the  idea  of  my  being  false  might 
have  been  too  much  for  her  loving  heart, 
and  may  have  cut  short  her  young  life." 

After  the  conclusion  of  this  story  Talbot 
asked  many  questions  about  Dolores,  and 
the  conversation  gradually  changed,  until 
at  length  it  came  round  to  the  cross-ques 
tioning  of  Lopez  which  Talbot  had  under 
gone. 

"  I  have  never  told  you,"  said  she, "  about 
my  own  errand  here  in  this  country ;  and  as 
this  may  be  our  last  conversation,  I  should 
like  very  much  to  tell  you  all." 

Thus  this  confidence  of  Brooke's  led  to 
a  similar  act  on  the  part  of  Talbot,  who 
now  related  to  him  her  own  history.  As 
this  has  been  already  set  forth  from  the 
lips  of  Harry  Rivers,  it  need  not  be  repeat 
ed  here.  Brooke  listened  to  it  in  silence. 
At  the  close  he  merely  remarked : 

"  Well,  Talbot,  we've  now  made  our  final 
confessions.  This  is  our  last  interview. 
And  I  feel  sad,  not,  my  lad,  at  the  thought 
of  death,  but  at  the  thought  of  leaving  you 
among  these  villains.  My  only  thought  is, 
what  will  become  of  you." 

"  It's  strange,"  said  Talbot,  in  a  musing 
tone,  "  very  strange.  All  this  that  I  have 
been  telling  you  seems  now  removed  back 
away  to  a  far,  far  distant  past.  It  is  as 
though  it  all  happened  in  a  previous  state 
of  existence." 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  Brooke.  "  Oil  yes ; 
you  see  you've  been  having  a  precious  hard 
time  of  it." 

"  Yes,"  mused  Talbot.  "  Fear,  hope,  sus 
pense,  shame,  grief,  despair ;  then  fear,  sus 
pense,  and  despair  ;  then  hope  and  joy,  fol 
lowed  again  by  despair..  So  it  has  been, 
and  all  in  a  few  days.  Brooke,  I  tell  you 
I  am  another  person  altogether  from  that 
girl  who  left  her  home  so  short  a  time  ago. 
Miss  Talbot— where  is  she  ?  I  am  the  lad 
Talbot— comrade  of  a  brave  man— fighting 
with  him  for  my  life,  and  now  along  with 
him  resting  in  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of 
Death." 

"  Bosh !"  said  Brooke,  in  a  husky,  chok 
ing  voice.  He  muttered  a  few  unintelligi 
ble  words,  and  then  ceased. 

"  Death  is  near,  Brooke  —  very  near ;  I 
feel  it." 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


83 


"  Talbot,"  said  Brooke,  with  something 
like  a  groan,  "  talk  of  something  else." 

"  It's  near  to  you." 

"Well,  what  if  it  is  ?" 

"  And  it's  near  to  me." 

"  It's  not ;  I  tell  you  it's  not,"  cried  Brooke, 
excitedly. 

"  It  was  the  old  fashion  of  chivalry,  up 
held  by  all  the  Talbots,  that  the  page  or  the 
squire  should  never  survive  the  chief.  I'm  a 
Talbot.  Do  you  understand  me,  Brooke  ?" 

"  If  they  did  so,"  cried  Brooke,  in  strong 
er  excitement,  "  they  were  a  pack  of  cursed 

fools. 

" '  He  that  fights  and  runs  away 
May  live  to  fight  another  day.' 

That's  my  motto." 

"Do  you  think  I'll  survive  you?"  asked 
Talbot,  taking  no  notice  of  Brooke's  words. 

Brooke  gave  a  wild  laugh. 

"You'll  have  to,  my  boy  —  you'll  have 
to." 

"  I'm  your  page,  your  vassal,"  said  she. 
"I'm  a  Talbot.  We've  exchanged  arms. 
I've  flung  away  the  girl  life.  I'm  a  boy — 
the  lad  Talbot.  We're  brothers  in  arms, 
for  good  or  evil,  Brooke." 

Brooke  began  to  whistle,  and  then  mur 
mured  some  words  like  these : 

"  Non  ego  perfidum 
Dixi  sacramentum :  ibimus,  ibimus, 
Utcnnqne  pnecedes,  supremurn 
Carpere  iter  comites  parati." 

"  What  do  you  say  ?"  asked  Talbot. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  said  Brooke ;  "  dog  Lat 
in—some  rubbish  from  Horace.  Allow  me, 
however,  to  remark,  that  all  this  talk  about 
death  seems  to  me  to  be  cursed  bad  taste." 

After  this  he  began  to  whistle  a  tune. 

Suddenly  he  held  up  his  hand  so  as  to 
display  the  ring. 

"  Who  gave  you  this  ?"  he  asked,  care 
lessly. 

"  Mr.  Rivers,"  said  Talbot,  simply.  "  It 
was  our  engagement  ring." 

Brooke  gave  his  usual  short  laugh,  and 
subsided  into  silence. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

IN    WHICH    BROOKE    AND    TALBOT    STAND    FACE    TO 
FACE   WITH    DEATH. 

THIS  was  to  be  to  Brooke  his  last  day  in 
life.  The  thought  of  this  was  ever  present 
to  both  of  them.  The  band  would  prob 
ably  return  during  the  night,  and  in  the 
morning  the  last  scene  would  be  enacted. 


In  the  few  days  in  which  these  two  had 
known  each  other  they  had  been  compelled 
to  undergo  great  variations  of  feeling,  and 
had  come  to  learn  each  other's  inmost  nat 
ure  more  thoroughly  and  intimately  by  for 
than  could  have  occurred  after  years  of  or 
dinary  social  intercourse.  Together  they 
had  faced  danger  and  death ;  together  they 
had  endured  hope  and  fear,  hunger  and 
weariness,  sorrow  and  despair.  The  feel 
ings  of  each  had  been  stirred  to  the  utter 
most  depth.  Strong  natures  were  they, 
both  of  them ;  and  they  both  were  capable 
of  self-control,  and  they  each  knew  how 
to  wrear  an  aspect  of  calmness  while  all  the 
time  the  soul  within  was  in  a  tumult  of  ter 
ror  or  distress.  This  night  was  to  be  the 
last  on  earth  to  one  of  them,  perhaps  to 
both.  So  they  said  but  little.  They  could 
but  sit  in  silence,  and  think,  and  feel,  and 
suffer. 

At  midnight  there  was  a  wild  clamor 
outside.  The  band  had  returned.  The 
prisoners  went  to  the  window,  and  there, 
standing  side  by  side,  they  looked  out. 
Brooke  thought  that  his  hour  might  even 
now  be  at  hand,  and  the  same  fear  occurred 
to  Talbot.  Neither  spoke.  So  for  a  long 
time  they  stood  watching,  listening,  until 
at  last  the  sounds  died  away,  all  movement 
ceased,  and  all  was  still.  The  men  had 
gone  to  rest,  and  they  now  knew  that  there 
would  be  a  respite  until  morning.  They 
stood  looking  out  into  the  night.  If  a 
thought  of  flight  had  ever  occurred  to 
either  of  them,  they  could  now  see  that  such 
a  thing  was  impossible.  For  they  were  en 
vironed  with  guards ;  and  in  the  room  be 
low  and  on  the  grass  outside  the  followers 
of  Lopez  lay  between  them  and  liberty. 

"  Brooke,"  said  Talbot,  "  if  you  were  now 
alone  I  know  very  well  what  you  would  do." 

"  What  ?" 

"You  would  draw  your  revolver,  jump 
down,  burst  through  the  midst  of  these 
men,  and  escape.  Why  not  do  so  now  ?" 

Brooke  gave  a  short  laugh. 

"Do?  Leave  me!  Fly!  They  cannot 
blame  me  if  you  fight  your  way  through 
them.  Better  to  die  fighting  than  be  shot 
down  helplessly." 

"If  I  did  so,  theyM  take  out  their  ven 
geance  on  you." 

"  They  would  not." 

"  They  would." 

"  Then  you  stay  for  me !" 

"Yes." 

Talbot  drew  a  long  breath. 


84 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


"  You  are  bent  on  dying,  Brooke,  not  to 
save  me,  but  merely  to  prevent  them  from 
being  too  hard  to  me." 

"  They  will  let  you  go,"  said  Brooke. 
"  They  will  be  satisfied — when  I  arn  gone." 

Talbot  seized  his  hands  in  a  convulsive 
grasp. 

"  Oh,  Brooke !"  she  groaned.  "  Can  noth 
ing  move  you  ?  What  is  life  worth  to  me  at 
such  a  cost  ?  Oh,  Brooke,  fly !  Leave  me. 
Fight  your  way  out.  I  will  follow  you." 

"  You  cannot.  If  you  tried,  you  would 
be  sure  to  be  captured.  I  might  escape  as 
you  say,  but  you  could  not." 

"  Oh,  Brooke,  try— fly !  Oh,  I  could  kill 
myself  rather  than  endure  this  any  longer." 

"  Talbot !"  said  Brooke,  suddenly  shak 
ing  her  off. 

"What,  Brooke?" 

"  You're  a  fool !" 

"  Yes,  Brooke." 

"  You're  a  fool !"  he  repeated,  in  a  voice 
that  sounded  like  a  gasp.  "  Why  will  you 
persist  in  talking  in  this  way,  and  blight 
and  shatter  all  my  strength  of  soul  ?  It's 
too  late,  I  tell  you.  I  will  not.  I  will  not 
do  anything  that  can  expose  you  to  fresh 
danger;  your  peril  is  great  enough  now, 
but  there  is  a  bare  chance  for  you  if  noth 
ing  happens.  When  they  have  got  one  life 
they  may  feel  inclined  to  spare  the  other." 

"  Never !"  said  Talbot.  "  They  shall  not. 
I  will  not  have  it." 

"  You  must !"  said  Brooke,  fiercely. 

"  I  tell  you  I  will  not !"  cried  Talbot,  in  a 
passionate  voice. 

"D— n  you!"  roared  Brooke.  "I  tell 
you  you  must,  and  you  shall !" 

At  this  there  was  a  noise  below.  Some 
of  the  guard  had  awakened.  Brooke  drew 
a  long  breath,  and  retreated  from  the  win 
dow  into  the  darkness.  Talbot  went  after 
him. 

"Talbot,"  said  Brooke,  in  a  voice  that 
was  strangely  sweet  yet  unutterably  sad — 
"  Talbot,  do  you  want  to  break  my  heart  ?" 

"  Brooke,"  said  Talbot,  in  a  low,  thrilling 
tone.  "  Is  it  your  heart  only,  do  you  think, 
that  is  now  almost  breaking?" 

After  this  there  was  a  deep  silence,  bro 
ken  only  by  their  own  quick  breathing. 
Brooke  felt  a  hand  in  his.  He  caught  it  in 
a  convulsive  grasp;  and  the  two  hands 
clung  to  each  other,  and  throbbed  witli  the 
vehement  pulsations  of  two  hearts  that  now 
beat  with  intensest  feeling. 

"  Let  me  go,"  wailed  Brooke,  at  last, 
snatching  his  hand  away.  He  gasped  for 


breath.  He  retreated  farther  into  the  dark 
ness.  Talbot  stood  motionless  and  trem 
bling.  There  was  silence  again  for  a  long 
time.  It  was  at  last  broken  by  Brooke. 

"  Come,  Talbot,"  he  said,  with  feverish 
rapidity  and  a  wretched  assumption  of 
carelessness.  "Let's  engage  in  conversa 
tion.  What  shall  we  talk  about?  The 
weather?  Or  the  crops?  Or  shall  we 
talk  politics  ?  By-the-bye,  can't  you  sing 
something  ?  I  tell  you  what — it  isn't  fair. 
You  make  me  do  all  the  singing.  But  I 
don't  mind.  You're  a  good  listener,  at  any 
rate.  If  you  like  I'll  sing  a  hymn." 

And  he  began,  singing  through  his  nose : 

"  Oh,  a  maiden  she  lived  in  the  south  comitrie, 
And  a  werry  fine  maid,  my  boy,  was  she, 
For  her  hair  was  as  red  as  red  can  be ; 
So  oft"  we  go  to  Marymashee. 

And  a  jolly  young  cove  fell  in  love  with  she. 
Says  he,  'My  lass,  will  you  marry  me?' 
One  foot  up  and  t'other  foot  down, 
And  away  we  travel  to  London  town." 

Again  there  was  a  sound  below.  Brooke's 
song  had  roused  the  guard. 

Talbot  gave  a  wrild  start. 

"  They're  coming !"  she  gasped,  in  a  tone 
of  horror.  "They're  coming — at  last. 
They  won't  wait !" 

"  Pooh  I"  said  Brooke,  whose  voice  by 
this  time  had  regained  its  old  careless  ring ; 
and  he  whined  on : 

"Cats  don't  come  at  half-past  eight 
Tap- tap-tapping  at  the  garding  gate !" 

Talbot  gave  a  sigh  that  sounded  like  a 
groan.  The  sounds  below  subsided,  and 
all  was  still  once  more. 

So  the  night  passed. 

Morning  came. 

A  man  brought  up  bread  and  wine ; 
but  now  there  was  no  thought  of  eating, 
even  for  the  sake  of  saving  strength.  Nei 
ther  one  spoke,  nor  did  either  venture  to 
look  at  the  other. 

At  length  they  were  summoned  outside. 
Lopez  was  there,  with  half  a  dozen  men 
around  him.  Farther  away  were  the  rest 
of  the  men,  watching  the  scene.  On  the 
right  were  a  dozen  men  with  rifles.  Brooke 
was  as  cool  as  usual.  Talbot  was  calm,  but 
deathly  pale. 

"  Senor  Brooke,"  said  Lopez,  "  I  am  a 
man  of  but  few  words,  and  few  need  now 
be  said.  I  have  given  you  a  long  respite — 
longer  than  I  said.  What  is  your  deci 
sion  ?  Will  you  go  with  us  and  show  us 
where  the  Carlists  took  the  English  la 
dies  ?" 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


85 


"Senor  Captain,"  said  Brooke,  calmly, 
"  I  ain  quite  unable  to  give  you  any  infor 
mation  about  the  ladies.  I  don't  see  what 
I  can  do." 

"  Lead  us  to  the  place,"  said  Lopez. 

Brooke  shook  his  head. 

"  I  can't  say  any  more,"  said  he. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Lopez,  quietly.  "  Then 
you  must  die." 

"  You  can  certainly  kill  me,  Senor  Cap 
tain,  but  what  good  will  that  do  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  particular  good,"  said  Lopez, 
"  but  the  law  is  that  spies  shall  be  shot  at 
once,  and  I  merely  gave  you  a  chance. 
You're  a  bold  fellow,  and  I  should  like  to 
spare  you — that's  all." 

"Thanks,  Senor  Captain.  And  may  I 
make  one  request  ?" 

"  Name  it,  senor." 

"  This  young  priest  is  free,  is  he  not  ?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  You  will  suffer  hirn  to  go  without  mol 
estation." 

"  Certainly." 

"He  is  young,  and  a  stranger  in  the 
country.  He  doesn't  know  a  word  of  the 
language,  and  is  in  despair  about — about 
me.  Would  it  be  possible  for  him  to  pro 
cure  a  guide  for  part  of  the  way,  at  least 
to  Vittoria,  or  some  nearer  railway  station  ?" 

"  I  will  furnish  him  with  one,"  said  Lo 
pez,  "  all  the  way." 

"  Thank  you,  senor,"  said  Brooke. 

"  Senor,"  said  Lopez,  "  it  pains  me  deep 
ly  to  see  you  rush  on  to  destruction." 

"  Senor  Captain,"  said  Brooke,  "  you  are 
a  man  of  honor  and  generosity.  I  wish  I 
could  do  what  you  ask." 

Lopez  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Then  he 
sighed.  Then  he  took  a  final  look  at 
Brooke.  After  this  he  motioned  to  two 
of  his  men.  These  two  came  forward  and 
led  Brooke  to  a  place  opposite  the  file  of 
armed  men.  One  of  the  men  offered  to 
bind  his  eyes,  but  Brooke  motioned  him 
away. 

"  I  don't  want  it,"  said  he. 

As  he  said  this,  Talbot  came  up  and 
stood  by  his  side.  Lopez  walked  down 
toward  the  file  of  men  and  stood  at  a 
point  on  one  side,  half-way  between  the 
condemned  and  the  soldiers. 

"  Talbot,"  said  Brooke,  in  a  low  voice, 
"  go  away." 

"Brooke,"  said  Talbot,  "will  you  not 
live  ?" 

"  What !  in  dishonor  ?" 

"  Oh,  my  God  1"  groaned  Talbot.    "  What 


shall  I  do  ?  He  will  die— and  I've  killed 
him !" 

"  Talbot,"  said  Brooke,  in  a  husky  and 
unsteady  voice,  "go  away.  You'll  make 
me  die  two  deaths.  You  are  safe.  Lopez 
has  promised  to  send  a  guide  with  you  to 
Vittoria." 

"A  guide?"  said  Talbot,  in  a  strange 
voice. 

"  Think  of  me — sometimes,"  stammered 
Brooke. 

Talbot  turned  and  looked  at  him. 
Brooke  saw  the  look  and  all  that  was  con 
veyed  in  it,  and  then  obstinately  shut  his 
eyes. 

Lopez  now  turned  to  see  if  the  two 
friends  had  said  their  last  say.  He  saw  a 
singular  sight.  The  "  priest "  was  standing 
directly  in  front  of  Brooke  and  facing  the 
file  of  soldiers.  At  that  moment  also 
Brooke  opened  his  eyes  again  and  saw 
Talbot  in  front  of  him. 

He  stepped  forward  and  seized  her  arm. 

"  Oh,  Talbot !  oh,  Talbot !"  he  groaned. 
"  This  is  worse  than  death.  Why  will  you 
torment  me  ?" 

Talbot  shook  him  off.  Brooke  threw  a 
despairing  look  at  the  captain,  and  shrank 
back.  Talbot  folded  her  arms  and  stood 
in  front  of  him. 

Had  she  only  been  able  to  speak  Span 
ish  she  would  have  told  them  all  —  how 
this  man  had  run  into  danger  on  her  ac 
count,  how  he  was  now  dying  through 
her,  how  she  was  resolved  to  die  either  for 
him  or  with  him.  She  would  have  told 
them  all  that,  but  that  would  not  have  re 
vealed  the  half  of  all  the  eloquent  story 
which  stood  unfolded  in  her  attitude  and 
in  her  face. 

She  stood  erect,  her  arms  folded  on  her 
breast,  facing  thus  the  file  of  soldiers.  Her 
look,  however,  was  as  though  she  saw  them 
not.  Her  eyes  were  turned  toward  them, 
yet  their  gaze  was  fixed  on  vacancy.  She 
thus  showed  her  face — looking  thus  with 
steadfast  eyes — a  calm  face,  serene,  tranquil, 
white  as  marble,  and  as  motionless.  All 
that  Brooke  had  seen  there  which  had  made 
him  think  of  the  Angel  Gabriel,  and  all 
that  Lopez  had  seen  there  which  made 
him  think  of  the  Apostle  John,  was  now 
clearly  manifest  in  that  noble  and  expres 
sive  countenance.  It  was  the  face  of  a  pure, 
a  lofty,  an  exalted  nature,  full  of  profound- 
est  feeling  and  matchless  self-control — the 
face  of  one  who  was  resolved  to  die,  the 
face  of  a  martyr,  the  face  of  one  who  was 


A   CASTLE   IN   SPAIN. 


standing  in  full  view  of  Death,  who  was 
waiting  for  his  approach,  and  was  undis 
mayed. 

As  for  Brooke,  he  at  last  experienced  all 
that  he  had  dreaded.  He  was  utterly  over 
come.  White,  ghastly,  trembling  from  head 
to  foot,  he  stared  at  Talbot  with  something 
like  horror  in  his  face,  yet  he  could  not 
move.  He  stood  shuddering,  and  speech 
less. 

At  such  an  astonishing  and  unexpected 
spectacle  the  very  soldiers  gazed  in  awe. 
Hardened  as  they  were,  there  was  some 
thing  in  Talbot's  determined  self- sacrifice, 
and  in  Brooke's  manifest  anguish  of  soul, 
which  overcame  them  all,  and  hushed  them 
all  alike  into  wonder  and  silence.  All  eyes 
were  fixed  on  the  two  who  thus  stood  be 
fore  the  file  of  soldiers.  At  length  there 
arose  murmurs  —  strange  murmurs  indeed 
to  come  from  such  men,  for  they  indicated 
pity  and  compassion. 

Upon  Lopez  the  effect  of  all  this  was 
overwhelming.  He  had  seen  it  from  the 
beginning.  He  saw  the  face  of  Talbot,  the 
agony  of  Brooke.  At  first  there  was  only 
wonder  in  his  looks,  then  came  profound 
agitation.  His  sword  dropped  from  his 
hand.  He  turned  away.  Now,  as  he  thus 
turned  away,  had  he  encountered  fierce, 
cruel,  blood-thirsty  faces,  he  might  have 
come  back  to  his  first  resolve,  and  recover 
ed  from  the  emotion  which  was  unman 
ning  him;  but  the  faces  of  his  men  were 
full  of  pity  and  of  wonder.  His  fierce  fol 
lowers  were  themselves  overcome,  and  thus 
the  agitation  of  Lopez  was  heightened. 

"I  am  a  soldier,"  he  cried  ;  "I  am  not  a 
bandit.  I  am  not  a  cut-throat.  It's  all  very 
well  for  us  to  kill  our  enemies  in  battle, 
but,  my  lads,  to  kill  people  in  this  way  is 
butchery,  and  if  they  want  butchers  they'll 
have  to  get  others.  I  must  talk  to  these 
men  again,  especially  to  this  priest." 

With  these  words  Captain  Lopez  dis 
missed  his  men  and  then  turned  to  Brooke. 

"  Senor,"  said  he,  "  I  have  some  more 
questions  to  ask.  I  will  therefore  post 
pone  proceedings  until  after  further  exam 
ination." 

Talbot  understood  the  actions  of  Lopez, 
and  comprehended  the  meaning  of  his 
words.  There  was  an  immense  revulsion 
of  feeling  within  her — from  that  prepara 
tion  for  death  to  this  restoration  to  life; 
yet  so  perfect  was  her  self-control  that  she 
lost  not  one  whit  of  her  caution,  and  vigi 
lance,  and  outward  calm.  She  did  not  trust 


herself  to  look  at  Brooke.  She  merely 
turned  away  and  stood  with  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  ground.  Brooke  stood  watching 
her  with  a  haggard  stare.  He  did  not  look 
at  Lopez;  but  as  he  caught  his  words  he 
muttered  something  in  reply  which  was  un 
intelligible  to  Lopez,  and  quite  incoherent 
in  itself. 

The  prisoners  were  now  conducted  back 
again  to  their  place  of  confinement.  Here 
at  last,  removed  from  all  strange  eyes,  the 
fortitude  of  Talbot,  so  long  sustained,  gave 
way  utterly.  Under  the  pressure  of  so  tre 
mendous  a  reaction  her  womanly  nature  re 
asserted  itself.  She  fell  prostrate  upon  the 
floor,  and  lay  there,  overwhelmed  by  a  ve 
hement  passion  of  tears.  As  for  Brooke,  he 
dared  not  trust  himself  to  soothe  her;  he 
dared  not  even  so.  much  as  look  at  her,  but 
seated  himself  as  far  away  as  possible,  and 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

IN    WHICH    BROOKE    SINGS   AND    TALKS    IN    A    LIGHT 
AND   TRIFLING   MANNER. 

BROOKE  and  Talbot  had  thus  emerged 
from  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death, 
but  that  shadow  still  rested  upon  them. 
Their  sudden  deliverance  had  left  them 
both  alike  overwhelmed ;  and  as  they  stood 
apart,  not  speaking,  not  even  looking  at 
one  another,  there  was  a  struggle  in  the 
mind  of  each  which  made  it  hard  indeed 
for  them  to  regain  any  kind  of  self-control. 
The  vision  of  death  which  had  been  before 
them  had  disclosed  to  each  the  inmost  soul 
of  the  other,  and  had  led  to  revelations  of 
feeling  that  might  not  have  been  made  un 
der  any  other  circumstances.  They  had 
both  alike  expected  death ;  they  had  said 
to  one  another  their  last  and  truest  words ; 
thev  had  given  expression  to  their  most  se 
cret  and  sacred  confidences ;  they  had  bid 
den  their  most  solemn  and  most  tender  fare 
wells  ;  but  the  moment  which  had  threat 
ened  to  be  the  last  of  life,  had  passed  away 
leaving  them  still  in  the  land  of  the  living — 
leaving  them  together  as  before,  bound  by 
the  new  and  imperishable  tie  of  a  common 
memory,  for  neither  could  forget  all  that 
had  been  said,  and  felt,  and  done  by  the 
other. 

After  the  events  of  the  morning,  Lopez 
had  gone  away  with  the  greater  part  of  his 
followers,  leaving  behind  a  guard  of  about 
half  a  dozen,  as  before.  The  noise  of  these 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


87 


movements  had  aroused  the  two  prison 
ers,  and  they  had  gone  to  the  window  to 
look  out,  seeking  rather  to  distract  their 
thoughts  than  to  satisfy  anything  like  curi 
osity.  From  this  window  they  had  watch 
ed  these  proceedings  in  silence,  standing 
close  beside  each  other,  with  their  eyes  turn 
ed  to  the  scene  outside,  but  with  thoughts 
wandering  elsewhere.  At  length  all  had 
gone  except  the  guard,  and  the  last  of  the 
band  had  been  swallowed  up  by  the  inter 
vening  hills.  There  was  nothing  more  to 
be  seen  outside  or  to  serve  as  a  pretence 
for  keeping  their  looks  from  following  their 
thoughts. 

Their  eyes  met.  It  was  a  deep  and  an 
eloquent  look,  full  of  unuttered  meaning, 
which  each  turned  upon  the  other ;  and 
each  seemed  to  read  in  the  eyes  of  the  oth 
er  all  the  secrets  of  the  heart;  and  stand 
ing  thus  they  looked  into  one  another's 
hearts. 

It  was  Brooke  who  spoke  first. 

"I  wonder,"  said  he,  in  a  low,  gentle 
voice — "  I  wonder,  Talbot,  if  you  had  that 
look  when  you  placed  yourself  in  front  of 
me  and  faced  their  levelled  rifles.  If  so, 
Talbot,  lad,  I  don't  wonder  that  the  sol 
diers  paused ;  for  they  say  that  the  calm 
eye  of  man  can  tame  the  wild  beast  or  the 
fury  of  the  maniac ;  and  so  your  eyes  tamed 
the  madness  of  these  fierce  ruffians.  Was 
your  look  then,  Talbot,  as  calm  and  as  firm 
as  it  is  now  ?" 

"It  was  fixed,"  said  Talbot,  in  a  gentle 
voice,  "unalterably.  But  it  was  not  their 
rifles  that  I  saw ;  it  seemed  then  as  though 
I  saw  the  other  world." 

A  short  silence  followed,  and  then  Brooke 
spoke  again,  in  a  voice  which  was  very 
weak  and  tremulous. 

"And  you,  Talbot,  stood  before  their  bul 
lets,  offering  your  life  for  mine !" 

The  accents  of  his  voice  seemed  to  quiv 
er  with  suppressed  passion  and  infinite  ten 
derness. 

'•  It  was  only  a  fair  exchange,"  said  Tal 
bot,  slowly;  and  her  voice  thrilled,  as  she 
spoke,  through  the  heart  of  Brooke  as  he 
went  over  to  her  to  listen ;  "  for  you  were 
giving  up  your  own  life  for  me." 

There  was  silence  now  for  some  time,  dur 
ing  which  their  eyes  were  fastened  upon 
one  another.'  At  length  Brooke  drew  a 
long  breath  and  turned  away.  Then  he 
began  abruptly  to  sing  one  of  his  droll 
songs.  His  voice  was  faint  at  first,  biit 
grew  stronger  as  he  went  on : 


"  Billy  Taylor  was  a  gay  young  rover, 

Full  of  mirth  and  full  of  glee  ; 
And  his  mind  he  did  discover 
To  a  maid  of  low  degree. 

Kitefollulol-lol-lol-lol-lido, 
Rite  follalol-lol-lol-lol-lay. ' 

"You  see,"  continued  he,  "my  way  is  to 
sing  while  I  can.  There  are  too  many  times 
in  life  when  you  can't  sing  '  Billy  Taylor.' 
Then  you  may  retire  to  your  corner,  and 
wear  sackcloth  and  ashes.  Such  a  time  is 
coming,  Talbot,  lad,  when  the  strain  of 'Bil 
ly  Taylor'  shall  be  heard  no  more.  But 
so  long  as  I  can  I'll  sing : 

"  'But  this  maiden  had  a  parient, 

Who  was  very  stern  to  she. 
"Fly,  oh,  fly,  my  dearest  darter, 
From  the  wiles  of  your  Billee  1" 
Rite  follnlol-lol-lol-lol-lido, 
Kite  follalol-lol-lol-lol-lay.' " 

During  this  little  diversion  of  Brooke's 
Talbot  said  nothing.  It  was,  as  he  saidr  his 
way,  and  Talbot  had  grown  accustomed  to 
it.  A  long  silence  followed,  after  which 
Brooke  once  more  addressed  her. 

"  Talbot,"  said  he,  "  we  have  been  ac 
quainted  only  two  or  three  days,  and  we  have 
told  one  another  all  that  is  in  our  hearts. 
So  it  seems  as  if  we  had  been  friends  for  a 
long  time.  Yes,  Talbot ;  if  I  were  to  count 
over  all  the  friends  of  all  my  life,  I  could  not 
find  one  like  you — no,  not  one.  And  now, 
if  we  both  escape  and  you  go  back  to  your 
people,  how  strange  it  will  be  never  to 
meet  again." 

"  Never  to  meet  again !"  repeated  Talbot ; 
and  an  expression  as  of  sharp  and  sudden 
pain  flashed  over  her  face.  "  You  do  not 
mean  to  say  that  you  will  never  come  to 
me  ?" 

"  Come  to  you  !"  repeated  Brooke,  and 
he  gave  that  short  laugh  of  his.  "  Oh  yes 
— I'll  come,  of  course,  and  I'll  leave  my 
card ;  and  perhaps  you'll  be  '  not  at  home,' 
or  perhaps  I'll  be  asked  to  call  again,  or 
perhaps — " 

Talbot  smiled,  and  Brooke,  catching  her 
eye,  smiled  also,  and  stopped  abruptly. 

Then  followed  another  silence,  which, 
however,  unlike  most  of  such  periods,  was 
not  at  all  embarrassing. 

"Have  you  noticed,"  said  Talbot,  at 
length,  "that  they  have  left  the  same  small 
guard  which  they  left  "before?" 

"  Oh  yes ;  but  what  of  that  ?" 

"  Don't  you  think  that  now,  after  what 
has  happened,  they  might  be  far  less  strict, 
and  be  open  to  a  moderate  bribe  ?" 

"  Bribe  ?     And  why  ?"  asked  Brooke. 


88 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


"  Why  ?  why  ?"  repeated  Talbot,  in  sur 
prise.  "  Why,  to  escape — to  get  our  free 
dom." 

"But  suppose  I  don't  want  my  free 
dom  ?"  said  Brooke. 

"Not  want  it?  What  do  you  mean? 
Do  you  suppose  that  I  may  not  be  strong 
enough  for  the  journey  ?  Don't  be  afraid 
of  that.  I  feel  strong  enough  now  for 
any  effort.  I'll  fly  with  you  —  anywhere, 
Brooke." 

"Fly?"  said  Brooke;  "fly?  What, 
and  take  you  to  your  friends  ?  And  then 
what?  Why,  then — a  long  good-bye! 
Talbot,  I'm  too  infernally  selfish.  I'll  tell 
you  a  secret.  Now  that  the  worst  is  over — 
now  that  there  doesn't  seem  to  be  any  real 
danger — I'll  confess  that  I  enjoy  this.  I 
don't  want  it  to  end.  I  feel  not  only  like 
singing,  but  like  dancing.  I  want  to  be 
always  living  in  a  tower,  or  an  old  wind 
mill,  or  anywhere  —  so  long  as  I  can  look 
up  and  see  you,  I  don't  want  anything 
more  in  the  world.  And  when  I  look  up 
and  see  Talbot  no  more  —  why,  then  I'll 
stop  singing.  For  what  will  life  be  worth 
then,  when  all  its  sunlight,  and  bloom,  and 
sweetness,  and  joy  are  over,  and  when  they 
are  all  past  and  gone  forever  ?  Life !  why, 
Talbot,  lad,  I  never  began  to  know  what 
life  could  be  till  I  saw  you ;  and  do  you 
ask  me  now  to  put  an  end  to  our  friend 
ship  ?" 

This  was  what  Brooke  said,  and  then  he 
turned  off  into  a  song: 

"Then  this  maiden  wiped  her  eyelids 

With  her  pocket-handkerchee ; 
Though  I  grow  H  yaller  spinster 
I  will  stick  to  my  Billee  ! 

Rite  follalol-lol-lol-lol-lido, 
Rite  follalol-lol-lol-lol-lay." 

After  this  there  followed  another  pro 
longed  silence.  Talbot  was  now  the  first 
to  speak. 

"Brooke,"  said  she,  in  her  low,  soft, 
tremulous  voice,  which  had  died  down  al 
most  to  a  whisper, "we  know  the  secrets 
of  one  another's  hearts.  Oh,  Brooke! 
Brooke!  why  have  we  never  met  before? 
Oh,  Brooke  1  how  strangely  we  have  drifted 
together!  How  much  we  have  learned 
about  each  other !  Is  Fate  so  bitter  as  to 
make  us  drift  away,  after— after — 

Her  voice  died  away  altogether,  and  she 
turned  her  face  aside  and  bowed  down  her 
head. 

Brooke  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  and 
seemed  about  to  take  her  hand,  but  he  con 


quered  this  impulse  and  resolutely  averted 
his  eyes. 

"  Don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  said  he,  at  last, 
with  an  affectation  of  airy  indifference. 
"  It  would  take  a  man  with  a  head  as  long 
as  a  horse  to  answer  such  a  question  as 
that.  Talbot,  lad,  you  shouldn't  plunge  so 
deep  into  the  mysteries  of  being." 

After  this  there  wras  another  silence,  and 
then  Talbot  looked  up  at  Brooke  with  her 
deep,  dark  glance,  and  began  to  speak  in  a 
calm  voice,  which,  however,  did  not  fail  to 
thrill  through  the  heart  of  Brooke  as  he 
listened. 

"  Brooke,"  said  she, "  you  have  your  own 
way.  Your  way  is  to  conceal  a  most  ten 
der  and  pitying  heart  under  a  rough  or  at 
least  an  indifferent  manner  —  to  hide  the 
deepest  feeling  under  a  careless  smile,  and 
pretend  to  be  most  volatile  and  flippant 
when  you  are  most  serious.  You  can  per 
form  heroic  actions  as  though  they  were 
the  merest  trifles,  and  lay  down  your  life 
for  a  friend  with  an  idle  jest.  You  make 
nothing  of  yourself  and  all  of  others.  You 
can  suffer,  and  pretend  that  you  enjoy  it ; 
and  when  your  heart  is  breaking,  you  can 
force  your  voice  to  troll  out  verses  from  old 
songs  as  though  your  chief  occupation  in 
life  were  nonsense,  and  that  alone.  And 
this  is  the  man,"  continued  Talbot,  in  a 
dreamy  tone,  like  that  of  one  soliloquizing 
— "  this  is  the  man  that  I  found  by  chance 
in  my  distress ;  the  man  that  responded  to 
my  very  first  appeal  by  the  offer  of  his  life  ; 
that  went  into  the  jaws  of  death  merely 
to  bring  me  food ;  the  man  that  gave  up 
all  the  world  for  me — his  duty,  his  love, 
his  life;  the  man  that  has  no  other  pur 
pose  now  but  to  save  me,  and  -who,  when 
his  whole  frame  is  quivering  with  anguish, 
can  smile,  and  sing,  and — " 

"  Well,  what  of  it  ?"  interrupted  Brooke, 
harshly.  "  What  of  it,  oh,  thou  searcher 
of  hearts  ?  And,  moreover,  as  to  nonsense, 
don't  you  know  what  the  poet  says  ? 

"  'A  little  nonsense  now  and  then 
Is  relished  by  the  wisest  men.' 

Moreover,  and,  yea,  more,  as  to  smiles  and 
laughter,  don't  you  know  what  another 
poet  says  ? — Shakspeare,  for  instance : 

"  '  Tis  better  to  laugh  than  be  sighing;' 

or,  as  Lord  Bacon,  or  Plato,  or  somebody 
else  says,  '  Laugh  and  grow  fat.'  And 
didn't  John  Bunyan  prefer  the  House  of 
Mirth  to  the  House  of  Mourning? 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


"  'John  Buuyau  was  a  tinker  bold, 
His  name  we  all  delight  iu ;  • 
All  day  he  tinkered  pots  and  pans, 
All  night  he  stuck  to  writiu'. 

In  Bedford  streets  bold  Johnny  toiled, 

An  ordinary  tinker; 
In  Bedford  jail  bold  Johnny  wrote— 

Old  England's  wisest  thinker. 

About  the  Pilgrims  Johnny  wrote, 

Who  made  the  emigration ; 
And  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  they  became 

Of  the  glorious  Yankee  nation. 

Ad  urbem  ivit  DoodHus  cum 

Caballo  et  calone, 
Ornavit  pluma  pileum 

Et  clixit :— Maccaroui !' 

Excuse  me,"  he  continued;  "you  don't  un 
derstand  dog-Latin,  do  you,  Talbot  ?" 

"No,"  said  she,  with  a  smile,  "  but  I  un 
derstand  you,  Brooke." 

"Well,"  said  Brooke,  "but  apart  from 
the  great  question  of  one  another  which  is 
just  now  fixing  us  on  the  rack,  or  on  the 
wheel,  or  pressing  us  to  any  other  kind  of 
torment,  and  considering  the  great  subject 
of  mirthfulness  merely  in  the  abstract,  do 
you  not  see  how  true  it  is  that  it  is  and 
must  be  the  salt  of  life,  that  it  preserves 
all  living  men  from  sourness,  and  decay, 
and  moral  death  ?  Now,  there's  Watts,  for 
instance — Isaac  Watts,  you  know,  author 
of  that  great  work, '  Watts's  Divine  Hymns 
and  Spiritual  Songs  for  Infant  Minds,'  or 
it  may  have  been  '  Watts's  Divine  Songs 
and  Spiritual  Hymns  for  Infant  Mind.'  I 
really  don't  remember.  It's  of  no  conse 
quence.  Now,  what  was  Watts  ?  Why, 
on  my  side  altogether.  Eead  his  works. 
Consult  him  in  all  emergencies.  If  any- 
thing's  on  your  mind,  go  and  find  Watts 
on  the  mind.  It'll  do  you  good.  And  as 
the  song  says : 

"  '  Oh,  the  Reverend  Isaac  Watts,  D.D., 

Was  a  wonderful  boy  at  rhyme  ; 
So  let  every  old  bachelor  fill  up  his  glass 
.     And  go  in  for  a  glorious  time. 
Chorus.— Let  dogs  delight 
To  bark  and  bite, 
But  we'll  be  jolly,  my  lads,  to-night.' " 

During  this  last  little  diversion  Brooke 
never  turned  his  eyes  toward  Talbot.  She 
was  close  by  his  side ;  but  he  stood  look 
ing  out  of  the  window,  and  in  that  attitude 
kept  rattling  on  in  his  most  nonsensical 
way.  It  was  only  in  this  one  foct  of  his 
careful  manner  of  eluding  the  grasp,  so  to 
speak,  of  Talbot's  eyes,  that  an  observer 
might  discern  anything  but  the  most  care 
less  gayety.  To  Talbot,  however,  there  was 


something  beneath  all  this,  which  was  very 
plainly  visible ;  and  to  her,  with  her  pro 
found  insight  into  Brooke's  deeper  nature, 
all  this  nonsense  offered  nothing  that  was 
repellent;  on  the  contrary,  she  found  it 
most  touching  and  most  sad.  It  seemed 
to  her  like  the  effort  of  a  strong  man  to 
rid  himself  of  an  overmastering  feeling — a 
feeling  deep  within  him  that  struggled  for 
ever  upward  and  would  not  be  repressed. 
It  rose  up  constantly,  seeking  to  break 
through  all  bounds ;  yet  still  he  struggled 
against  it;  and  still,  as  he  felt  himself  grow 
weaker  in  the  conflict,  he  sought  refuge 
in  fresh  outbursts  of  unmeaning  words. 
But  amidst  it  all  Talbot  saw  nothing  ex 
cept  the  man  who  had  gone  forth  to  die 
for  her,  and  in  all  his  words  heard  noth 
ing  except  the  utterance  of  that  which 
proved  the  very  intensity  of  his  feelings. 

"  Oh  yes,"  continued  Brooke,  "  there  are 
lots  of  authorities  to  be  quoted  in  favor  of 
mirthfulness.  I've  already  mentioned  Bun- 
yan  and  Watts.  I'll  give  you  all  the  rest 
of  the  old  divines. 

"  '  Oh,  Baxter  is  the  boy  for  me, 
So  full  of  merriment  and  glee : 
And  when  I  want  a  funny  man, 
I  turn  to  any  old  Puritan  :— 
A  Puritan, 
A  funny  man, 
I  read  the  works  of  a  Puritan ! 

Among  the  Puritan  divines 
Old  Cotton  Mather  brightest  shines, 
And  he  could  be  a  funny  man, 
Because  he  was  a  Puritan : — 

A  Puritan, 

A  funny  man, 
Old  Mather  was  a  Puritan ! 

The  old  Blue-Laws,  of  all  the  best, 
Old  Calvin  made  in  solemn  jest ; 
For  fun  he  never  could  tolerate, 
Unless  established  by  the  State  :— 

A  Puritan, 

A  funny  man, 
John  Calvin  was  a  Puritan  !' " 

This  eccentric  song  Brooke  droned  out 
n  nasal  tones  and  with  a  lachrymose  whine 
o  the  strangest  tune  that  ever  was  heard. 
At  its  close  he  heaved  a  sigh,snd  said: 

''Well,  it's  dry  work  singing  hymns  all 
myself,  and  you  won't  even  ' jine '  in  the 
horuses,  and  so— I'll  stop  the  machine." 

Saying  this,  he  turned  away  and  went  to 
he  opposite  side  of  the  small  loft,  where 
.e  sat  down  with  his  head  against  the  wall. 

"Does  any  lady  or  gentleman  present 
bject  to  smoking  ?"  said  he,  after  a  brief 
ause,  as  he  drew  forth  his  pipe  and  smok- 
ng  materials.  "  Because  I  propose  to  take 

smoke,  and  I  should  like  to  know,  just 
nt  of  curiosity." 


90 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


To  this  Talbot  made  no  reply,  but  sat 
down  opposite  Brooke,  in  the  same  atti 
tude,  and  watched  him  as  he  smoked,  which 
he  proceeded  to  do  without  any  further 
delay. 

"  You  don't  smoke,  I  believe,  sir,"  said 
he,  with  all  gravity. 

Talbot  said  nothing. 

"  Well,"  said  Brooke, "  I  wouldn't  advise 
you  to  begin ;"  and  with  that  he  went  on 
puffing  away. 

Brooke  at  last  finished  his  smoke,  after 
wrhich  he  put  his  pipe  in  his  pocket,  and 
then,  throwing  his  head  back,  sat  with  his 
eyes  obstinately  fixed  on  the  ceiling.  Tal 
bot  remained  in  the  same  attitude,  without 
moving.  She  had  kept  her  eyes  all  this 
time  fixed  on  Brooke,  and  knew  that  he 
was  avoiding  her  glance.  All  the  same, 
however,  she  continued  watching  him,  and 
was  waiting  patiently  till  she  should  catch 
his  eye.  But  Brooke,  as  though  aware  of 
her  purpose,  avoided  her,  and  still  looked 
away. 

Thus  these  two  sat  in  utter  silence  for  a 
long  time. 

It  was  Talbot  who  first  broke  the  silence. 

"  Brooke,"  said  she,  in  a  soft,  low  voice, 
which  sounded  like  a  sigh. 

"Well,  Talbot,"  said  Brooke,  in  a  voice 
which  was  strangely  altered  from  the  some 
what  hard  tones  of  forced  gayety  in  which 
he  had  last  been  speaking. 

"  Brooke,"  said  Talbot, "  I  am  miserable." 

Brooke  was  silent  for  a  time.  He  made 
a  movement,  then  checked  himself,  and  then 
said, 

"  Are  you  ?     Odd,  too,  isn't  it  ?" 

"I  am  miserable,"  said  Talbot  again; 
"  and  it  is  strange,  for  your  life  has  been 
saved,  and  we  are  out  of  immediate  dan 
ger.  Yet  I  am  now  more  miserable  than 
I  was  last  night  when  your  life  was  in 
danger.  Can  you  tell  me  why  it  is  so, 
Brooke?" 

Again  Brooke  made  a  movement,  which 
he  checked,  as  before,  by  a  strong  impulse. 

"  Give  it  up,"  said  he,  shortly. 

"I  know,"  said  Talbot.  "I'll  tell  you. 
It  was  this,"  and  her  voice  dropped  as  she 
spoke  to  a  lower  tone.  "  Last  night  I  had 
made  up  my  mind  to  die  for  you,  Brooke." 

Brooke  drew  a  long  breath.  For  an  in 
stant  his  eyes  lowered.  They  caught  the 
gaze  which  Talbot  had  fixed  on  him — deep, 
intense,  unfathomable.  It  was  but  for  a 
moment,  and  then  it  was  as  though  he 
made  a  violent  effort,  and  tore  them  away. 


One  of  his  hands  caught  at  the  other,  and 
held  it  in  a 'tight  grip. 

"  Too  much  Talbot  in  that,"  he  said  at 
length,  in  a  harsh  voice.  u  If  you  go  on  dy 
ing  for  people,  what'll  become  of  you  ?" 

"And  now,"  continued  Talbot,  in  a 
dreamy  way — "  now,  when  suspense  and 
danger  seem  over,  I  am  miserable — simply 
miserable,  Brooke.  Why  should  my  mind 
have  such  strange  alternations,  feelings  so 
contradictory,  so  unreasonable  ?  I  ought  to 
be  happy — why  am  I  not  ?" 

"  Now,"  said  Brooke,  in  the  same  harsh 
tone  as  before,  "  you're  beginning  to  talk 
metaphysics,  and  I'm  all  at  sea  there." 

Talbot  was  silent. 

Brooke  began  to  sing : 

"  How  doth  the  little  busy  bee 
Improve  the  shining  hour. 

But  I  prefer 

The  caterpil-ler 

That  feeds  on  the  self-same  flower. 
The  bee  he  slaves  for  all  his  life  ;— 
Not  so  the  other  one  ; 

For  he  soars  to  the  sky, 

A  butterfly, 
Ere  half  his  days  are  done." 

Silence  now  followed  for  a  very  long 
time.  It  was  at  length  broken  by  Brooke. 

"  Talbot,"  said  he,  in  a  soft,  low  voice. 

"  Well,  Brooke,"  said  Talbot. 

"Will  you  be  silent  if  I  say  something  ?" 

"  Yes,  Brooke." 

"  Not  speak  a  word  ?" 

"  No,  Brooke." 

"  Not  move  an  inch  ?" 

"  No,  Brooke." 

"  Well,"  said  Brooke,  on  second  thoughts, 
"  I  think  I  won't  say  it." 

Talbot  said  nothing. 

Brooke  sat  looking  away,  as  usual,  but 
now,  at  last,  his  eyes,  which  had  so  long 
avoided  hers,  sank  down  till  they  met  her 
gaze.  They  rested  there,  and  these  two  sat 
in  silence,  regarding  one  another  with  a 
strange,  sad  look  of  longing,  as  though  there 
was  between  them  a  barrier  over  which 
they  dared  not  pass.  And  that  barrier 
arose  there,  invisible  yet  impassable  —  the 
pledge  of  honor  and  fidelity  already  given 
by  each  to  another,  at  the  thought  of  which 
they  had  now  to  crush  down  the  surging 
passions  within. 

"Talbot,"  said  Brooke  once  more. 

"  Well,  Brooke,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Oh,  Talbot !  Talbot !  Do  you  know 
what  I  wish  to  say  ?" 

"  Yes,  Brooke,"  said  Talbot.  "  I  know  it. 
I  knoAv  it— all." 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


91 


"  Well,  I  will  say  it,"  said  Brooke,  "  for 
I  cannot  keep  it.  Oh,  Talbot !  it  is  this — 
it  is  part  of  my  Puritan  education,  perhaps. 
Oh,  Talbot " — and  his  eyes  rested  on  hers 
with  a  devouring  gaze,  and  his  voice  trem 
bled  and  died  out  into  almost  inaudible 
tones — "  oh,  Talbot,  my  younger  brother 
Talbot !  Very  pleasant  hast  thou  been  unto 
me.  Thy  love  to  me  is  wonderful — passing 
the  love  of  women  !" 

Talbot  was  true  to  her  promise.  She  did 
not  move  an  inch  and  she  did  not  speak 
a  word.  But  her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  his ; 
and  in  those  eyes  Brooke  saw  once  again 
what  he  had  seen  before — the  look  of  a  love 
that  had  already  shown  itself  stronger  than 
life. 

****** 

It  was  evening. 

Suddenly  there  arose  a  noise  outside. 
Brooke  started  up  and  went  to  the  win 
dow,  where  he  stood  looking  out.  It  was 
Lopez,  with  all  his  followers,  who  were  re 
turning. 

Brooke,  in  his  usual  fashion,  sang : 

"  Oh,  little  Jack  he  climbed  so  high, 
Up  the  beanstalk  into  the  sky, 
And  there  he  saw  an  ogre  grim 
A  comiu1  to  make  mince-meat  of  him. 
Singing  fe-fi-fo-fnm— 
I  smell  the  blood  of  an  Englishman  I" 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

HOW    MR.  ASHBY    MEETS    WITH    A    GREAT    SURPRISE 
AND   A   VERY   GREAT    CONSOLATION. 

ASHBY  was  alone  in  his  chamber.  His 
room  opened  from  the  lower  hall,  and  was 
directly  beneath  that  in  which  Harry  was 
confined.  It  was  of  the  same  dimensions 
in  all  save  height,  in  which  respect  it 
was  much  inferior.  The  room  had  also 
a  gloomier  character,  for  the  high  stone 
walls,  as  they  rose  and  arched  overhead, 
had  the  aspect  of  some  cathedral  crypt  or 
burial-place.  The  windows  here  were  nar 
row  slits,  as  above,  through  which  the  dif 
ferent  court-yards  might  be  seen.  The  floor 
was  of  stone,  and  at  one  end  there  was  a 
huge  fireplace,  very  similar  to  the  others  al 
ready  mentioned,  though  not  so  high. 

It  had  been  a  long,  long  day  for  Ashby. 
Evening  came,  and  found  him  weary  and 
worn  out  with  ennui.  Without  any  occu 
pation  for  his  energies,  his  mind  preyed 
upon  itself,  and  there  certainly  was  suf 
ficient  occupation  for  his  fancy.  His  mind 
was  in  a  whirl,  and  speedily  became  a  prey 


to  every  variety  of  conflicting  feeling.  He 
remembered  Katie's  bright  smile,  and  also 
the  dark  glance  of  Dolores.  He  was  jeal 
ous  of  the  smiles  which  Katie  had  so  lav 
ishly  bestowed  on  Harry.  He  was  offend 
ed  with  her  for  being  so  gay  under  such 
circumstances.  But,  in  his  loneliness,  there 
were  other  feelings  which  were  stronger 
than  even  this  resentment  and  jealousy. 
There  were  certain  strange  and  indefinable 
longings  after  some  society ;  and  the  soci 
ety  which  now  seemed  most  desirable  was 
the  gentle  presence  of  Dolores.  Her  last 
looks  remained  deeply  impressed  upon  his 
memory ;  her  last  deep,  earnest  glance  had 
sunk  into  his  soul.  He  could  not  throw 
aside  this  recollection.  Dolores  was  in  all 
his  thoughts,  though  he  had  tried  to  thrust 
her  aside. 

He  found  himself  continually  comparing 
these  two.  Would  Katie  be  so  glad  at  see 
ing  him  again  as  Dolores  had  been  at  meet 
ing  him?  Would  Katie  take  so  much 
trouble  for  the  sake  of  speaking  to  him  ? 
On  the  other  hand,  would  Dolores  be  so 
gay,  so  happy,  and  so  merry  when  torn 
from  him  ?  and  would  Dolores  look  upon 
him  in  his  loneliness  with  such  a  smile 
of  indifference  and  light  -  hearted  mirth  ? 
Never !  Dolores  had  a  deeper  nature.  In 
the  glance  of  Dolores  her  inmost  soul  had 
been  revealed.  At  its  recollection  his 
nerves  thrilled,  his  heart  throbbed  faster. 
He  longed  to  hear  her  voice  again.  And 
thus,  as  the  hours  passed,  the  image  of  Ka 
tie  faded  away,  and  that  of  Dolores  grew 
more  strongly  defined;  the  image  of  Do 
lores  as  she  had  last  appeared  to  him  — 
pale,  sad,  anxious,  earnest,  her  eyes  fixed 
upon  him  with  deep,  intense  melancholy 
and  profound  pity. 

"Afar  away  from  thee, 

Thy  pale  face  haunts  me  yet ; 
Deep  yearns  my  heart  for  thee, 
Thy  last  sad  look  and  word  unable  to  forget." 

These  words  occurred  to  him,  and  he 
murmured  them  to  himself.  It  was  to  Do 
lores  that  he  applied  them,  and  naturally 
too;  for  how  ridiculously  inapplicable  to 
Katie  would  they  be!  All  else  was  now 
forgotten  except  Dolores.  He  felt  a  long 
ing  after  her  that  was  like  homesickness. 
The  past  all  came  back.  He  recalled  her 
as  she  had  been  when  he  first  met  her  at 
Valencia.  A  thousand  little  incidents  in 
his  life  there,  which  had  been  for  a  time 
forgotten,  now  revived  in  his  memory.  He 
had  been  for  months  at  their  house  and 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


had  been  nursed  through  a  long  illness. 
He  had  been  loaded  with  kindness  and  af 
fection.  The  aged  mother  Had  been  his 
nurse  during  his  illness,  and  Dolores  had 
been  his  companion  during  his  convales 
cence.  He  had  left  them,  expecting  soon 
to  return.  Circumstances,  however,  had 
arisen  which  kept  him  away,  and  he  had 
forgotten  her.  Now,  however,  a  stronger 
feeling  had  arisen  for  her,  as  Dolores  had 
appeared  in  more  than  her  olden  beauty, 
with  the  additional  charm  of  a  strange,  pa 
thetic  grace,  and  a  wistful  look  in  her  dark 
eyes  that  seemed  to  speak  of  something 
more  than  ordinary  friendship.  She  had 
spoken  of  the  days  at  Valencia ;  she  had 
reproached  him  for  forgetting.  She  her 
self  had  not  forgotten  those  days  —  the 
days  in  which  they  used  to  talk  arid  walk 
and  sing  together. 

As  there  was  nothing  to  divert  his  mind 
from  these  thoughts,  Ashby  gave  himself 
up  to  them,  and  thus  became  more  help 
less  against  them.  It  was  in  such  a  rnood 
as  this  that  he  lay  upon  his  rude  couch, 
unable  to  sleep,  and  wondering  what  was 
to  be  the  end  of  his  present  adventure. 
Should  he  ever  see  her  again  ?  Was  she 
here  now,  or  had  they  let  her  go?  The 
thought  that  she  might  possibly  have  been 
set  free,  that  she  might  now  be  far  away, 
was  too  distressing  to  be  entertained.  If 
so,  then  his  prison  seemed  doubly  dark. 
If  so,  then  what  could  he  do  ?  Even  if  he 
should  become  free,  what  was  he  to  do  ? 
Upon  one  thing  he  was  resolved,  and  that 
was  to  seek  after  her  until  he  might  find 
her.  And  Katie  ?  Well,  the  fact  is,  Katie 
was  left  out  of  consideration. 

Hours  had  passed.  Ashby  could  not 
sleep.  His  mind  was  as  active  as  ever,  and 
still,  as  ever,  his  thoughts  all  gathered 
about  Dolores. 

Suddenly,  in  the  very  midst  of  these 
thick-teeming  fancies,  his  attention  was  ar 
rested  by  a  strange  sound. 

It  was  only  a  slight  rustle,  scarce  audible, 
yet  still  he  heard  it,  and  under  such  circum 
stances  it  seemed  most  mysterious.  In  an 
instant  he  was  all  attention.  He  lay  mo 
tionless,  yet  listened  with  intense  watch 
fulness,  peering  at  the  same  time  into  the 
dark  room,  where  the  moonlight  struggled 
through  the  low,  narrow  windows. 

After  a  little  while  he  thought  that  he 
heard  the  sound  again.  He  listened,  with 
out  motion. 

Then  there  came  a  different  sound.    It 


was  a  low  whisper — a  whisper  which,  how 
ever,  penetrated  to  his  very  soul : 

"Assebi!" 

Was  there  any  other  in  all  the  world  who 
would  pronounce  his  name  in  that  way? 
It  was  the  well-known,  well-remembered, 
and  dearly  loved  name  as  it  had  been 
pronounced  by  Dolores  in  the  old  days  at 
Valencia.  Coming  thus  to  him  at  such  a 
time,  it  seemed  too  good  to  be  true.  He 
was  afraid  that  he  had  been  deceived  by 
his  own  fancy ;  he  feared  to  move  lest  he 
might  dispel  this  sweet  vision.  Yet  he 
hoped  that  he  might  not  be  mistaken;  and 
in  this  hope,  scarce  expecting  an  answer, 
he  said,  in  a  gentle  whisper, 

"Dolores!" 

"  I  am  here !"  said  a  soft  voice. 

At  this  Ashby's  heart  beat  wildly,  and 
a  thrill  of  rapture  rushed- through  every 
nerve  and  fibre  of  his  being.  He  sprang 
up  and  peered  through  the  gloom,  and 
moved  forward  in  the  direction  from  which 
the  voice  seemed  to  have  come.  At  this 
moment  he  did  not  stop  to  consider  how 
Dolores  could  have  got  there.  It  was 
enough  that  she  really  was  there,  and  all 
other  feelings  were  lost  in  his  deep  joy. 

"  Dolores,"  he  said,  "  where  are  you  ?  I 
don't  see  you." 

Through  the  room  a  figure  now  ad 
vanced  across  the  moonbeams.  He  saw 
the  figure.  In  another  instant  he  had 
caught  Dolores  in  his  arms. and  held  her 
strained  close  to  his  wildly  throbbing 
heart.  But  Dolores  struggled  away. 

"  Oh  no  !"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  distress, 
speaking  in  her  sweet  Spanish — "oh  no, 
Senor  Assebi.  This  is  cruel — when  I  have 
risked  so  much  for  you  I" 

"Forgive  me,  dearest  Dolores,"  said  Ash- 
by;  "but  you  have  come  to  me  like  an 
angel  from  heaven  in  my  darkest  hour. 
And  I  have  thought  of  you,  and  of  you 
only,  ever  since  you  left  me  at  Burgos.  I 
wandered  all  through  the  streets  there  to 
find  you.  I  have  been  in  despair  at  losing 
you.  I  have  been  wondering  whether  I 
should  ever  see  you  again — and  now,  dear 
est,  sweetest  Dolores,  I  have  you  again !" 

All  this  was  rapidly  uttered  in  a  resist 
less  torrent  of  words,  in  which  all  his  long 
pent-up  feelings  flowed  forth. 

Dolores  began  to  sob. 

"I  didn't  think  this,"  she  said,  "or  I 
should  have  been  afraid  to  come.  Senor, 
you  are  false  to  your  English  bride." 

"English   bride!"    cried   Ashby,  scorn- 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


93 


fully.  "What  is  she?  A  doll!  I  never 
wish  to  see  her  again.  My  fancy  for  her 
was  a  whim — a  passing  whim  !  You,  Do 
lores — you  are  the  only  one  that  I  love  !  I 
love  you !  I  love  you,  I  adore  you !  my 
own — " 

"  Senor,"  cried  Dolores,  tearing  away  her 
hands,  which  Ash  by  had  seized  in  his.  "  I 
will  instantly  leave  you  if  you  are  so  dis 
honorable.  All  this  is  insult  to  me — yes, 
to  me.  Oh,  senor,  you  will  break  my 
heart !" 

As  Dolores  said  this,  sobs  burst  from  her. 
She  glided  away  into  the  gloom,  still  sob 
bing.  Ashby  gave  way  utterly. 

"Dolores,"  he  cried,  in  a  tone  of  entreaty 
— "  Dolores,  forgive  me  !  I  will  never  offend 
again — never  —  never!  Oh,  forgive  me! 
Come  back,  Dolores !  Oh,  do  not  leave 
me,  Dolores !" 

At  this  Dolores  relented,  and  Ashby  saw 
her  approaching  him  again.  He  advanced 
toward  her. 

"Be  calm,"  she  said;  "speak  low;  we 
are  in  danger." 

"But  how  did  you  get  here?"  asked 
Ashby. 

"  I  will  tell  you  another  time.  It  is  a 
secret  passage." 

"  A  secret  passage  ?" 

"  Yes.  I  have  come  to  tell  you  that  I 
can  save  you.  You  may  escape." 

"  Escape  ?" 

"  Yes.    I  know  the  way  out." 

"  How  does  that  happen  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  have  been  here  before." 

"You!— here?" 

"Yes.  When  I  was  a  child  I  was  here. 
My  father  lived  here.  He  had  a  planta 
tion.  But  enough  ;  I  know  the  way  out." 

"  But  haven't  you  run  too  much  risk  in 
coming  here  ?" 

"  I  have  run  a  risk,"  said  Dolores,  slow 
ly,  "but  not — too — much." 

"  A  risk  ?" 

"  Yes.  I  went  into  the  wrong  room.  A 
man  was  asleep  there.  I  went  to  him  and 
touched  him,  and  whispered  in  his  ear  your 
name." 

"  Dolores !" 

"  Hush !  be  calm,  senor.  Remember  your 
promise." 

"  Who  was  the  man  ?" 

"  I  could  not  see  him.  He  pursued  me, 
but  I  escaped." 

"  But  you  ! — how  did  you  get  here  ?" 

"  By  a  secret  passage,  as  I  said." 

"  In  what  part  of  the  castle  are  you?" 


"  Oh,  in  the  story  above." 

"  Do  they  treat  you  well  ?"  asked  Ashby, 
in  a  tone  of  tender  solicitude. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  complain  of." 

"  Do  you  feel  lonely  ?  I  wonder  if  you 
have  felt  as  I  have  ?" 

Dolores  sighed. 

"  Sometimes,"  she  said,  "  I  have  felt  lone 
ly." 

"  And  you  have  come  here  to  save  me  ?" 

"Yes— why  not?" 

"  But  you  are  risking  much — perhaps 
your  life." 

It  all  burst  forth  now. 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  Dolores,  impetuous 
ly,  "  if  I  can  save — you  1" 

Ashby  made  no  reply.  He  took  the  lit 
tle  hand  of  Dolores  gently  and  tenderly, 
without  any  resistance  on  her  part,  and 
held  it  in  silence. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

HOW  MR.  ASHBY  AND  MISS   DOLORES   GARCIA  CARRY 
ON   A   VERY    INTERESTING   CONVERSATION. 

ASHBY  stood  thus,  holding  the  little  hand 
of  Dolores,  and  was  overcome  by  the 
strongest  emotions.  He  was  in  a  very  try 
ing  position.  Her  presence  filled  him  with 
joy,  yet  she  would  not  allow  him  to  express 
that  joy.  Being  bound  to  another,  he  wras 
forced  by  Dolores  to  respect  that  bond. 
And  yet,  what  must  her  feelings  be  toward 
him,  since  she  had  come  here  to  see  him, 
venturing  so  far  and  risking  so  much  ? 
Who  else  in  the  world  would  do  this  for 
him  ?  Would  Katie  ?  The  idea  was  too 
absurd.  Katie  was  a  mere  butterfly ;  but 
Dolores,  with  her  intense  nature,  her  pas 
sionate  self-devotion,  was  formed  out  of 
that  stuff  from  which  the  heroine  is  made. 
Katie  could  lose  all  she  loved  best,  and 
still  go  on  smiling  and  smiling;  but  Do 
lores  could  lay  down  her  life  for  her  friend. 
(Such  were  the  sentiments  of  Ashby  on  this 
occasion,  and  need  not  be  considered  as  by 
any  menus  a  fair  estimate  of  the  real  char 
acter  of  the  young  lady  in  question.  Katie 
has  yet  to  speak  for  herself.) 

So  Ashby  felt  himself  debarred  from  mak 
ing  any  strong  demonstration  of  feeling 
either  by  word  or  act.  He  wras  afraid  that 
Dolores  might  resent  it.  She  might  even 
fly  from  him  as  mysteriously  as  she  had 
come.  He  was  bound,  therefore,  to  set  a 
watch  upon  himself,  and  repress  his  feel 
ings  most  strongly.  It  seemed  to  him  a 


94 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


great  concession  on  her  part  that  she  per 
mitted  him  even  to  hold  her  hand.  This 
was  of  itself  most  sweet,  even  if  he  could 
say  nothing  of  those  thoughts  that  were 
swelling  within  him. 

"  How  did  you  manage  to  hide  yourself 
so  at  Burgos  ?"  he  asked,  after  a  long  si 
lence. 

"  I  did  not  hide,"  said  Dolores.  "  I  went 
to  that  house  where  my  friends  were  ;  and 
on  the  following  morning  they  took  me  to 
a  hotel  where  they  said  there  was  an  En 
glish  family.  These  were  the  Russells,  and 
they  consented  to  let  me  travel  with  them 
as  far  as  I  was  going.  Your  English  maid 
en  is  very  beautiful,  seiior." 

Dolores  spoke  these  last  words  in  a  tone 
full  of  pathos. 

"  She  is  a  pink-and-white  doll,"  said 
Ashby,  sharply.  "  Tell  me  about  yourself, 
Dolores.  Do  you  know" — and  he  bent  down 
low  over  her — "  do  you  know  how  I  tried 
to  see  you  ?  I  MTas  up  at  four,  and  from 
that  until  ten  I  paced  the  streets  in  all  di 
rections,  hoping  to  get  a  glimpse  of  you. 
Did  you  know  that  I  was  looking  for  you  ? 
Then  at  last  I  saw  you  with  that  beast  of 
a  tailor,  and  I  was  in  despair." 

"  What !  could  you  not  join  their  party  ? 
I  wondered  why  you  did  not  come  to  speak 
to — to  me,"  said  Dolores,  "  and  I  felt  hurt 
— because  I  thought  I  might  never  see  you 
again." 

"  Dolores,"  said  Ashby,  taking  her  hand 
in  both  of  his,  and  drawing  nearer  to  her, 
"  I  swear  that  at  that  time  I'd  have  given 
my  right  arm  to  speak  to  you.  But  that 
devil  of  a  tailor  is  my  bitter  enemy;  and 
you  saw  the  quarrel  we  had  in  the  railway 
station  at  Madrid." 

'•Then  you  did  not  purposely— avoid 
me  ?"  said  Dolores,  in  a  faltering  voice. 

"Oh,  Dolores!"  said  Ashby,  in  a  re 
proachful  tone.  He  tried  to  draw  her  near 
er,  but  Dolores  would  not  allow  it. 

"I  thought  that  I  should  like  to  say 
good-bye,  and  it  seemed  sad  to  have  you 
appear  to  avoid  me." 

"  By  heavens,  Dolores  !"  cried  Ashby,  "  I 
had  made  up  my  mind  to  leave  the  train 
and  follow  you  to  Pampeluna." 

Dolores  sighed. 

"  You  could  not  have  left  your  English 
maiden,"  said  she. 

"  I  could— I  would  !"  cried  Ashby.  "  By 
heavens,  I  would  !  She  is  nothing  to  me — 
nothing  better  than  a  kitten.  The  moment 
you  came,  I  understood  all  my  feeling  for 


her.  It  was  nothing.  Beside  you,  she 
sinks  into  utter  insignificance.  You,  Do 
lores,  are  everything  to  me.  I  tell  you,  you 
are  infinitely  dearer  to  me  than  that —  " 

"  Hush,  senor,"  said  Dolores;  "  I  will  not 
— I  will — will — will  not  listen  to  one  sin 
gle,  single  word  of  this." 

"  But,  oh,  dearest,  sweetest  Dolores,  will 
you  not  let  me  tell  you  how  I  love  you  ?" 
said  Ashby,  drawing  her  closer  to  him. 

Dolores  shrank  away. 

"  Oh  no — no,  no !"  she  said.  "  I  will  not 
listen — never — never — never !" 

"  I  tell  you,  Dolores,"  continued  Ashby, 
"  since  I  have  seen  you  I  have  discovered 
that  all  the  world  and  everything  in  it 
isn't  worth  a  straw  to  me  unless  I  have 
you.  I  swear  to  you  that  when  you  left  me 
at  Burgos  all  the  light  of  life  went  out, 
and  all  the  joy  and  sweetness  of  life  left 
me.  I'd  rather  stand  here  in  this  prison 
with  you  than  be  a  king  outside  without 
you.  And  I'm  glad  that  these  devils  of 
Caiiists  have  captured  us." 

As  Ashby  spoke  these  words  in  a  low, 
fervid,  excited  whisper,  he  held  Dolores 
tight  in  his  arms,  pressed  to  his  quick- 
throbbing  heart ;  nor  could  she  draw  away 
from  him,  in  spite  of  her  shrinking  back. 
In  fact,  the  poor  little  thing  did  not  seem 
to  have  the  will  to  get  away  from  him,  for 
the  end  of  it  was  that  her  head  fell  down 
helplessly  on  his  breast,  and  she  began  to 
cry: 

"I  —  think  —  it's  —  cruel,"  she  sobbed, 
"cruel  in  you !" 

Ashby  pressed  her  more  closely  to  his 
heart  in  the  same  "cruel"  manner,  and 
kissed  away  her  tears. 

"  You're  not  kind  to  me  at  all,"  sighed 
Dolores. 

To  this  observation  Ashby  made  no  re 
ply,  thinking,  perhaps,  that  at  that  moment 
words  were  of  no  particular  use. 

"  It's  very  cruel,"  repeated  Dolores,  "  and 
I  did  not  think  you  would  be  so  unkind — " 

To  this  Ashby's  answer  was,  as  before, 
by  acts  that  were  more  eloquent  than 
words. 

"Dolores,"  said  he,  as  soon  as  he  was 
able  to  express  himself  coherently,  "  if  you 
had  not  come,  I  really  think  I  should  have 
killed  myself." 

"Did  you  really  feel  so  badly?"  asked 
Dolores,  in  a  tender  voice. 

"My  heart  ached,"  said  Ashby;  "it 
ached  for  the  sight  of  you.  Do  you  know 
what  heartache  is,  darling  ?  Do  you  know 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


95 


what  it  is  to  hunger  and  thirst  and  long 
and  yearn  after  some  one  ?" 

Dolores  sighed.  She  said  nothing,  but 
her  head  rested  more  closely  on  Ashby's 
breast,  and  one  little  hand  stole  timidly  up 
and  was  laid  lightly  on  his  shoulder. 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  such 
feelings,  Dolores  ?"  persisted  Ashby. 

"All,"  said  Dolores,  in  a  scarce  audible 
whisper,  "  all— all— all !  But  tell  me,"  said 
she,  looking  up  as  though  trying  to  see  his 
face  in  the  gloom,  "  who  was  it  ?" 

"  Who  was  it  ?  What  a  question  !  You  ! 
you,  darling  !  you,  Dolores  !" 

"Not  the  English  maiden?"  she  asked. 

"  She  1"  said  Ashby,  contemptuously; "  she 
is  a  doll — a  butterfly— a  kitten!  She  is 
nothing — a  poor  creature  with  no  brains 
and  no  heart!  Even  her  beauty  is  mere 
prettiness.  There  is  no  soul  in  her  face, 
no  lightning  in  her  glance." 

"And  who  has  soul  in  her  face  and 
lightning  in  her  glance?"  asked  Dolores, 
shyly. 

"  Who  ?  You !  you,  my  darling,  dark-eyed 
Dolores !  you,  with  your  deep,  unfathom 
able,  glowing,  soul-lit  eyes  that  pierce  to 
my  inmost  heart,  and  make  me  thrill  at  the 
recollection." 

"And  won't  you  say  that  all  again?" 
said  Dolores ;  "  and  won't  you  say  that 
about  the  English  maid  ?  I  love  to  hear 
you  call  her  names." 

Dolores  said  this  with  the  innocence  and 
frank  simplicity  of  a  child. 

"  She  is  a  baby  !"  said  Ashby;  "  the  En 
glish  maiden — a  mere  baby  !  She  can  only 
smile,  and  smile,  and  be  silly.  Her  only 
desire  is  to  find  some  one  who  will  pet  her. 
She  can  only  live  in  the  sunshine.  She  is 
a  butterfly !  She  has  no  heart,  no  soul ! 
She  is  a  doll  to  be  looked  at,  but  she  can 
give  no  return.  She  is  a  kitten  that  thinks 
of  nothing  but  play.  But  as  for  me,  I  give 
all  my  heart  and  all  my  love  to  a  girl  I 
know,  who  is  no  mere  fair-weather  friend, 
but  one  who  has  clung  to  me  when  others 
were  false,  who  has  come  to  me  in  my 
darkness  and  my  despair,  so  that  my  dun 
geon  has  become  a  heaven,  and  this  dark 
night  is  the  brightest  time  of  my  life.  And 
this  girl — this,  my  Spanish  girl,  is  my  idol 
and  my  deity.  I  adore  her,  for  I  know  that 
she  stands  ready  to  give  up  all  for  my  sake, 
and  to  lay  down  her  very  life  for  me. 
Never — never  in  all  my  life  have  I  known 
anything  like  the  deep,  intense,  vehement, 
craving,  yearning,  devouring  love  that  I 
7 


feel  for  her.  It  even  makes  me  smile  to 
think  how  feeble  and  contemptible  other 
feelings  have  been  in  comparison  with  this. 
I  want  no  other  occupation  than  to  spend 
all  my  hours  recalling  all  that  my  darling 
love  has  ever  said — in  recalling  the  days  at 
Valencia,  before  I  knew  she  was  so  dear, 
and  the  highest  bliss  of  life  I  have  now. 
I  could  be  willing  to  die,  and  could  even 
die  gladly,  my  darling,  darling  Dolores,  if 
I  could  die  with  your  hand  in  mine." 

Ashby  was  going  on  farther  in  this  pleas 
ing  strain,  when  suddenly,  and  without  a 
moment's  warning,  Dolores  gave  a  spring 
and  vanished. 

Ashby  stood  confounded.  Then  he 
stared  all  around.  Then  he  called  after 
her, 

"  Dolores !  Dolores !     Don't  leave  me  !" 

A  voice  came  back  through  the  gloom  : 

"  H-s-s-s-h  !    I  must  not  stay  any  longer.'' 

"  But  shall  I  never  see  you  again  ?" 

"  Certainly ;  I  will  come  soon,  and  show 
you  the  passnge-wny." 

"  Where  are  you  ?" 

"  Never  mind — good-night !" 

"  Oh,  Dolores,  wait — one  word  more." 

"  Be  quick  1"  said  Dolores,  and  her  voice 
now  sounded  nearer. 

"  You  will  see  me  again  ?"  said  Ashby,  in 
tones  of  entreaty.  u  You  will  not  fly  and 
leave  me  all  alone  ?  You  will  not  leave  me 
in  this  way  ?  I  may  be  taken  away  from 
this  room,  Dolores,  or  you  may  be  taken 
to  another  room ;  and  then  how  can  you 
get  to  me  ?  Show  me  how  you  came  here. 
You  might  do  that  much  for  me.  Only 
think  \vhat  dangers  there  are." 

Dolores  paused  a  moment. 

"Well,"  said  she,  "only  promise  one 
thing." 

"  What  ?" 

"  That  you  will  not  try  to  visit  me.  That 
would  be  dangerous.  Others  are  with  me." 

"  I  will  not ;  I  promise — except,  of  course, 
in  cases  of  the  greatest  necessity." 

"  If  you  do,"  said  Dolores,  "  I  shall  think 
that  you  have  not  come  for  me ;  I  shall 
think  it  is  for  the  English  maiden.  And 
now,  come ;  I  will  show  you  the  way." 

Once  more  Dolores  appeared  through  the 
ijlooin." 


96 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

IN    WHICH    "  HIS   MAJESTY  "    FALLS   IN    LOVE. 

MRS.  RUSSELL'S  position  was  a  very  pe 
culiar  and  a  very  trying  one.  From  the 
remarks  of "  His  Majesty"  she  had  reason 
to  believe  that  her  beloved,  yet  unfortu 
nate,  husband  had  been  found  guilty  of 
treason  against  that  august  monarch,  and 
had  been  executed.  At  the  same  time, 
"  His  Most  Sacred  Majesty"  had  evinced 
what  appeared  to  be  a  devoted  attachment 
to  her  humble  self.  Now,  what  was  a  high- 
toned  woman  to  do  under  such  circum 
stances  ?  Mourn  over  the  departed  one  ? 
Most  certainly ;  that  she  would  ever  do. 
But  what  about  "His  Majesty"  and  the 
royal  attentions?  Should  she  turn  a  deaf 
ear  to  that  too,  too  eloquent  tongue,  dash 
down  the  crown  of  Spain,  and  busy  herself 
in  unavailing  regrets  for  the  lost  one?  Be 
fore  doing  so  it  would  be  well  to  pause. 

And  then  there  were  other  considera 
tions.  It  was  not  the  man  who  must  be 
considered,  but  the  King.  It  was  not  her 
own  feelings  which  she  must  regard,  but 
the  well-being  of  Spain,  the  good  of  Eu 
rope,  and  the  interests  of  humanity.  Would 
it  not  be  better  that  the  throne  of  Spain 
should  be  filled  by  a  virtuous  English 
woman  than  by  some  frivolous  Continental 
princess  ?  Would  it  not  be  better  that  the 
Queen  of  Spain  should  emulate  the  domes 
tic  graces  of  a  Victoria  than  the  corrupt 
follies  of  an  Isabella  ?  Should  she  now, 
out  of  selfish  private  grief,  deprive  Spain 
of  such  an  inestimable  boon  ?  Would 
Spain  forgive  her?  Would  England?  Nay, 
would  the  world  ?  Could  she  forgive  her 
self? 

"  Nay,  nay,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  this  is 
not  a  time  for  weakness.  My  heart  must 
ever  lie  entombed  in  the  grave  of  my  dear 
lost  Johnny ;  yet  State  reasons  compel  me 
to  bestow  my  hand.  I  cannot  resist  the  cry 
of  stricken  Spain.  Yes,  thou  royal  wooer! 
take  my  hand — it  is  thine;  and  my  only 
sorrow  is  that  I  cannot  yet  give  thee  all 
this  stricken  heart.  Yet  patience,  fond  one ; 
it  may  all  be  thine  in  time — all — all." 

Katie  wras  surprised  to  observe  an  un 
wonted  dignity  suddenly  come  over  Mrs. 
Russell.  She  informed  that  young  person 
that  she  needn't  call  her  "  Auntie "  now, 
but  "  Madame,"  or  "  Scnora,"  and  proceed 
ed  to  drop  mysterious  hints,  from  which 
Katie's  quick  wit  soon  gathered  the  whole 
of  the  facts  of  the  case. 


Katie  exulted  so  in  this  discovery  that 
she  felt  happier  than  ever  in  her  life  be 
fore,  and  her  only  trouble  \vas  that  she  had 
no  one  to  whom  she  might  tell  this.  How 
ever,  she  did  the  best  she  could,  and  set 
herself  to  the  task  of  confirming  Mrs.  Rus 
sell  in  her  views  and  intentions ;  in  which 
she  wras  so  successful  that  the  latter  began 
to  imagine  herself  as  almost  already  on  the 
throne;  and  when  Katie  once  or  twice  ac 
cidentally  addressed  her  as  "  Your  Majes 
ty,  "  the  good  lady  did  not  check  her. 

Another  visit  from  uHis  Majesty"  found 
Mrs.  Russell  like  ripe  fruit  ready  to  be  gath 
ered.  On  this  occasion,  as  before,  the  au 
gust  monarch  came  alone.  He  was  in  high 
good-humor,  and  smelt  strongly  of  whis 
key.  He  began,  in  a  strain  of  gallantly, 
complimenting  the  ladies  in  general  on 
their  numerous  charms. 

"  Yez  oughtn't  to  be  kept  here  undher 
lock  an'  kay,"  said  "His Majesty,"  "an'  me- 
silf  'ud  be  the  proud  man  to  let  yez  out, 
ivery  one  av  yez,  but  thin  how  do  I  know 
that  I'd  iver  see  yez  agin?  I  must  kape 
yez  till  me  fate's  decoided.  I  don't  know 
yet  that  ye'd  be  willin'  to  come  to  terrains ; 
an'  so  ye're  loike  O'Rafferty  in  the  song : 

" '  Oh,  a  fine  pair  av  handcuffs  he  wore, 
That  the  sheriff  had  nately  adjusted, 
Because  that  official  persayved 
That  O'ltafferty  couldn't  be  trusted.'  " 

"Ah,  sire,"  said  Mrs.  Russell,  with  a 
sigh,  "Your  Royal  Majesty  holds  us  by 
stronger  bonds  than  bolts  and  bars." 

"Be  jabers  !"  exclaimed  "His  Majesty," 
"  that's  good  !  that's  nate  !  that's  illigant ! 
I  couldn't  bate  that  mesilf,  an'  I  hope  that 
all  the  ladies  priscnt  will  join  in  that  sinti- 
mint." 

As  he  spoke,  "His  Majesty"  looked 
hard  at  Katie,  but  that  young  lady  did  not 
catch  the  royal  eye. 

"  The  throne  av  Spain,"  continued  "His 
Majesty,"  "  an'  the  crown  an'  sceptre  av 
Spain,  an'  all  the  r'y'l  regalia,  an'  all  the 
moight  an'  majesty  an'  magnificence  av  its 
pomp  an'  power — be  jabers  !  they're  all 
goin'  a  beggin'  in  this  room  ;  an'  there's 
one  here  that's  only  got  to  wink,  an'  it's 
hers,  every  bit  av  it." 

Mrs.  Russell  here  made  desperate  efforts 
to  catch  the  royal  eye,  but  to  no  purpose, 
for  that  eye  was  fixed  on  Katie. 

"Yis,"  continued  "His  Majesty,"  "an' 
afore  to-morrow  noon  it  'ud  be  all  hers, 
any  time  at  all — crown  an'  sceptre  an1  all — 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


97 


an'  the  marriage  ceremony  cud  come  off  in 
the  mornin',  loike  Tim  : 

"  '  Oh,  married  was  Tim  at  the  dawn  av  day ; 

His  bride  was  a  stout  owld  widdy  ; 
She  owned  a  horse,  an'  she  owned  a  shay, 
An1  her  maiden  name  was  Biddy.'  " 

The  habits  of  this  illustrious  being  were 
singular,  and  his  tendency  to  make  odd 
quotations,  which  were  not  always  particu 
larly  relevant,  was  not  the  least  surprising 
of  his  ways.  In  this  last  quotation  Mrs. 
Russell  found  several  objectionable  expres 
sions;  but  on  the  whole  the  idea  was  a 
flattering  one,  for  the  subject  of  the  nar 
rative  was  represented  as  "  marrying  a 
widow;"  and  this  little  circumstance  was 
taken  as  a  fresh  proof  of  "  His  Majesty's  " 
devotion. 

"  Yez  mustn't  think,"  continued  "  His 
Majesty,"  "  that  there's  any  lack  av  our 
r'y'l  attintion  to  yez  because  yez  haven't 
got  much  to  brag  av  in  the  way  av  food ; 
begorra !  I'm  in  the  same  box  mesilf,  an'  it 
isn't  much  at  all  at  all  I  can  get  here  except 
mutton,  an'  it's  mesilf  that  'ud  give  all  the 
mutton  in  Spain  for  a  bit  av  a  pratie.  How- 
andiver,  I  hope  to  get  some  fish  by  to-mor 
row  mornin'.  If  we  could  only  get  a  taste 
av  a  few  praties  there'd  be  nothin'  wantin' ; 

for— 

"'It's  little  I  axes, 
An'  little  I  wish  ; 
If  others  want  luxuries,  let  them  ; 
For  praties  and  fish 
Make  an  illigant  dish, 
If  ye  only  have  whiskey  to  wet  th«m.'  " 

These  and  other  cheerful  remarks  of  a 
general  nature  were  addressed  by  "  His 
Majesty"  to  the  company  at  large.  It  is 
true,  the  royal  eye  was  fixed  exclusively 
on  Katie,  and  therefore  the  royal  remarks 
were  probably  so  many  efforts  to  do  the 
agreeable  to  her.  But  that  young  lady 
persistently  evaded  the  royal  eye ;  and  as 
Dolores  was  disregarded  altogether,  it  was 
natural  enough  that  Mrs.  Eussell  should 
appropriate  all  the  royal  remarks  and  make 
the  necessary  replies. 

"Ah,  sire!  your  'Royal  Majesty'  is  so 
very  funny !  Are  all  the  crowned  heads 
thus  ?" 

''All  av  thim  —  ivery  mother's  son  av 
thim.  An'  they're  an  illigant  lot.  But 
moind  this — it's  mesilf  that  bates  the  whole 
lot,  out-an'-out.  Ye  know,  I'm  not  only 
King  av  Spain,  but  heir  to  the  crown  av 
France." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?"  said  Mrs.  Russell. 

"  Divil  a  loie  I'm  tellin',"  said  "  His  Maj 


esty."  "  It's  thrue,  so  it  is.  I'm  nixt  av 
kin  to  Henri  Cinq — that's  Chambord,  ye 
know.  The  Count  av  Paris  is  Orleans,  not 
Bourbon.  I'm  Bourbon,  begorra !  An' 
whin  Chambord  doies,  an'  the  nixt  revo 
lution  takes  place  in  France,  I'll  march 
on  Paris  an'  give  pace  to  that  unhappy 
counthry.  An',  be  jabers !  I'll  take  me 
wife  wid  me,  an'  we'll  live  in  Paris,  an' 
I'll  get  her  the  most  illigant  dhresses,  an' 
coort  coschumes,  an'  bonnets,  an'  boots,  an' 
laces,  an'  gims,  an'  jools,  that  iver  any 
woman  wore.  The  Quane  av  Spain  '11  be 
the  Quane  av  France  too  ;  an'  what's  more, 
she'll  be  the  quane  of  beauty  an'  fashion, 
an'  the  ex-Empress  Eugtmie'll  be  nowhere. 
She'll  be  forgotten." 

It  was  thus  that  the  royal  wooer  tried  to 
dazzle  Katie's  imagination ;  but  whatever 
the  effect  on  her  may  have  been,  it  is  cer 
tain  that  Mrs.  Russell  experienced  the  full 
effect  of  the  dazzling  visions  which  those 
words  were  intended  to  call  up. 

"An'  now,"  said  "His  Majesty,"  starting 
up,  "  we  must  be  off.  We've  got  business. 
But  we  hope  to  see  yez  soon,  an'  have  it  all 
arranged.  Whisper,  darlint" — and  he  bent 
down  his  royal  head  close  to  Mrs.  Russell's 
tingling  ear — "  whisper,  jool :  I'm  wantin' 
to  have  a  discoorse  wid  ye — somethin'  im 
portant — I  must  see  ye  alone.  It's  ill  con- 
vaynient  just  now,  an'  I  don't  want  to  be 
overheard.  I'll  wait  till  the  gyerruls  are 
aslape,  an'  I'll  luk  in.  Ye'll  nioind,  will 
ye  ?  This  noight,  jool." 

"Ah,  sire — ah,  'Your  Majesty,'"  sighed 
Mrs.  Russell,  "  I'm  ready — wrhy  not  now  ?" 

"  Whis-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-sht !  shure  ye'll  spoil 
all,  so  ye  will.  Only  moind — to-noight !" 

"Ah,  sire,  I'll  never  forget  —  never  — 
never !" 

"  Thin  moind  to  be  on  the  luk-out,"  said 
"His  Majesty;"  and  with  these  remarkable 
words  he  retreated,  leaving  Mrs.  Russell  in- 
a  state  of  mind  which, .as  the  novelists  say, 
"  can  better  be  imagined  than  described." 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

HOW     HARRY     PAYS     ANOTHER     VISIT,     AND     MEETS 
WITH   A   STRANGE   ADVENTURE. 

HARRY'S  loneliness  was  by  no  means  al 
leviated  at  finding  that  Katie  was  so  near. 
It  was,  indeed,  rather  aggravated,  for  to 
our  light-hearted  friend  it  seemed  intoler 
able  that  Katie  should  be  so  near  and  yet 
so  far.  She  was  separated  from  him  by 


98 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


only  a  few  paces,  and  yet  he  was  compelled 
to  keep  away  from  her.  To  run  the  risk 
of  discovery  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  By 
day  it  was  necessary  to  put  up  with  his 
solitude  as  best  he  might.  He  was  suffi 
ciently  wary  not  to  forget  himself,  and  he 
did  not  lose  sight  of  the  probability  that 
he  was  watched.  The  discovery  of  that 
passage-\vay  made  it  seem  not  unlikely 
that  this  Castle  in  Spain  was  all  honey 
combed  with  other  passages ;  that  its  pon 
derous  walls  were  all  a  sham ;  that  these 
massive  stones  served  merely  as  a  blind  to 
conceal  innumerable  hiding-places  and  se 
cret  chambers.  He  was  sure  now  that 
these  walls  had  ears,  and  perhaps  eyes  also ; 
and  therefore  he  determined  to  do  nothing 
which  could  lead  to  the  discovery  of  his 
secret. 

At  length  evening  came,  and  then  Harry 
began  to  breathe  freely.  He  was  fully  re 
solved  on  paying  another  visit  to  Katie  at 
the  earliest  possible  moment.  He  knew 
that  she  would  be  expecting  him.  She 
would  not  be  asleep  this  time.  There  were 
many  things  which  he  wished  to  say,  and, 
above  all,  he  wished  to  persuade  her  to 
venture  into  the  passage-way  herself,  at 
some  favorable  opportunity,  so  that  they 
might  see  one  another  more  frequently. 

It  was  about  nine  o'clock  when  Harry 
entered  the  passage-way.  It  was  quite 
dark,  the  room  being  illuminated  in  part, 
as  before,  by  the  struggling  moonbeams. 
He  went  along  the  passage-way  and  came 
to  the  end  at  the  other  chimney.  There 
he  paused,  and  waited,  and  watched. 
Gradually  he  became  aware  of  some  one 
beneath.  He  gave  a  low  whisper :  "  Ka 
tie  !" 

A  low  whisper  was  returned :  "  Harry !" 
Upon  this  he  descended  softly  and  noise 
lessly.     Katie  herself  was  there.     She  had 
.  been  expecting  him. 

"They  are  all  asleep,"  she  said.  "I 
thought  I'd  just  come  here  to  see  if  you 
were  coming." 

"  You  little  pet !     You  knew  I'd  come." 
"  I  thought  you  might,  you  know." 
"This  day  has  been  so  horribly  long, 
Katie ;  I  thought  it  would  never  end.    See 
here — can't  we  manage  to  run  away?    I 
wish  I  could  find   some  way  out.     But 
you're  chilly.     This  air  is  damp,  and  there 
is  a  bad  draught  down  the  chimney.    Come 
in  to  the  corner  of  the  room." 

"But,  oh,  do  be  very,  very  cautious!" 
said  Katie. 


Holding  her  hand,  Harry  went  stealthily 
into  the  room,  and  drew  her  with  him  as 
quietly  as  possible,  till  they  reached  a  cor 
ner  of  the  room  on  the  right  of  the  fire 
place.  This  corner  was  all  shrouded  in 
loom,  so  that  if  the  sleepers  had  awakened 
they  could  have  seen  nothing.  Here  the 
two  found  themselves  quite  secure  for  the 
time  being;  and  as  all  the  room  was  per 
fectly  silent,  they  were  not  afraid  to  resume 
their  stealthy  whispers. 

"  Have  you  been  lonely  to-day,  Katie  ?" 
asked  Harry,  in  a  tender  voice. 

"  Oh,  a  little." 

"  A  little !"  repeated  he,  in  a  reproachful 
tone. 

"But  there's  been  such  an  awful  lot  of 
fun,"  said  Katie ;  "  I've  been  almost  bursting 
to  tell  some  one— that's  you,  you  know." 

"  Fun?"  said  Harry,  wondQiiugly ;  "  what 
fun  ?" 

"  Oh,  that  absurd  old  Paddy  King,  Don 
Carlos,  as  he  calls  himself— only  he's  no 
more  a  king  than  I  am.  Don't  you  think 
he's  some  strolling  Irish  vagabond  advent 
urer  ?" 

"  Irish  vagabond  ?  I  don't  know,"  said 
Harry.  Now  Harry  had  only  heard  "  His 
Majesty"  speak  in  Spanish,  and  therefore 
did  not  see  the  point  at  all. 

"  Well,  for  my  part,  I'm  sure  he's  an 
Irishman,"  said  Katie.  "  Mrs.  Kussell  says 
that  he  learned  some  English  from  an  Irish 
priest;  but  that  wouldn't  account  for  his 
queer  songs." 

"  Songs  ?" 

"Oh,  he's  utterly  ridiculous!  Who  or 
what  he  really  is  I  cannot  imagine.  And, 
do  you  know,  the  best  fun  of  all  is—he's  in 
love  with  me." 

"In love  with  you  ?"  Harry  cried,  recoil 
ing  as  he  said  it. 

"  Yes,  of  course — why  not  ?"  said  Katie. 

"  The  infernal  cad  !"  cried  Harry. 

"  Oh,  what  naughty  language  !"  said  Ka 
tie.  "  Oh !" 

"  D — n  him  !"  cried  Harry,  furiously. 
"  What  does  the  fellow  mean  ?" 

"  I  declare  I  -won't  listen  to  such  shock 
ing  language,"  said  Katie.  "  Now  stop  !" 

"Well — but  what  does  the  scoundrel 
mean  ?"  repeated  Harry,  in  jealous  wrath. 

"  Well,  he  means  to  try — to  marry  me." 

"  Marry  ! — you  !" 

"  Oh  yes ;  and  he  says  he'll  make  me 
Queen  of  Spain — and  he  says  he  has  a 
claim  to  the  crown  of  France  also,  which 
he  promises  to  share  with  me." 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


99 


"  Good  heavens  !"  said  Harry,  in.  utter 
consternation  ;  for  Harry  had  not  yet  done 
more  than  vaguely  suspect  that  "  His  Maj 
esty  "  might  be  any  other  than  what  he 
claimed  to  be,  and  this  design  of  his  upon 
Katie  seemed  now  a  peril  of  no  common 
magnitude.  "  Why,  Katie,"  he  added,  af 
ter  a  pause,  "  a  royal  personage  can't  marry 
a  private  person  like  you.  It's  illegal,  you 
know." 

"  Oh,  but  the  fun  of  it  is  he's  only  a  com 
mon  Irishman,  and  he  drinks  whiskey,  and 
has  an  awful  brogue.  Oh,  it's  such  fun  to 
listen  to  him  !  But  the  greatest  fun  of  all 
is,  auntie  believes  in  him.  She  thinks  he 
is  really  Don  Carlos ;  and,  best  of  all,  she 
thinks  he  is  making  love  to  her,  and  pro 
posing  to  her." 

"  To  her  !  Why,  she  has  a  husband  al 
ready." 

"  Oh,  but  she  thinks  he  has  been  killed." 

"  Killed  ?  Good  heavens  !  Is  that  re 
ally  so  ?  Poor  old  Russell !  Oh,  heavens  ! 
The  villains  !  They'd  do  it,  too." 

And  Harry  thought  of  the  bonds  and  the 
search  after  them.  It  seemed  to  him  not 
at  all  unlikely  that  they  had  killed  Russell 
so  as  to  get  at  these,  or  perhaps  to  punish 
him  for  not  giving  them  up.  Horror  now 
quite  overwhelmed  him.  He  felt  even 
shocked  at  Katie's  levity. 

"  But  Mrs.  Russell,"  he  said  ;  "  how  does 
she  bear  this  horrible,  calamity  ?" 

"  Bear  it  ?"  said  Katie ;  "  why,  she  wants 
to  be  Queen  of  Spain,  and  France  too  !" 

"What,  when  her  husband  lies  murdered 
close  by?  Oh, heavens! — oh,  good  heavens!" 

"  Well,  do  you  know,  it  does  seem  very 
odd  indeed." 

"  But  you,  Katie — how  can  you  talk  of 
such  horrors  in  such  a  way  ?  What  will  be 
the  fate  of  the  rest  of  us,  after  this  ?" 

"  Why,  you  poor  foolish  boy,  you  needn't 
scold  and  go  on  so.  I  don't  believe  he's 
dead  any  more  than  you  are.  I  believe 
that  "  His  Majesty  "  only  said  it  in  fun.  In 
fact,  he  never  did  actually  say  so." 

Harry  sighed  a  sigh  of  perplexity. 

"  But,  you  know,"  continued  Katie, "  Mrs. 
Russell  went  and  got  it  into  her  poor  old 
head.  Oh,  she's  very,  very  imaginative, 
poor  dear  old  auntie,  and  she  would  have 
it  so.  And  she  thinks  that  all  the  speech 
es  which  "His  Majesty"  makes  at  me  are 
intended  for  her." 

"The  wretched  creature!"  said  Harry; 
"  to  speculate  upon  her  husband's  death, 
and  think  of  such  a  thing  as  marriage." 


"Oh,  but  she  says  that  it  is  not  love 
that  makes  her  think  of  it,  but  State  pol 
icy." 

"  State  fiddlesticks !" 

"She  says  that  Mary  Queen  of  Scots 
married  Bothwell  after  her  husband's  mur 
der,  from  motives  of  State  policy." 

"  Oh,  good  heavens  !"  said  Harry,  whose 
sense  of  honor  and  loyalty  and  affection, 
and  even  of  common  decency,  was  utterly 
outraged  at  such  a  revelation ;  "  and  she  al 
ways  seemed  such  a  quiet,  good,  well-mean 
ing  sort  of  a  person." 

"  But  she  means  well  now,"  said  Katie. 
"  She  says  her  marriage  is  to  be  for  the 
good  of  Spain  and  the  world  generally." 

At  this  Harry  was  silent.  He  could  find 
no  more  words  to  express  his  feelings.  Be 
sides,  although  all  the  words,  ejaculations, 
and  exclamations  above  reported  were  ut 
tered  with  as  much  caution  and  in  as  low 
a  tone  as  were  consistent  with  his  excited 
feelings,  still,  they  made  more  noise  than 
was  wise  under  the  circumstances,  and 
there  were  signs  that  some  of  the  sleepers 
were  restless.  These,  at  last,  attracted  the 
attention  of  the  two  and  interrupted  their 
conversation.  Several  heavy  sighs  from  a 
remote  corner  of  the  room  showed  that 
some  one  was  awake,  or  waking,  and  this 
warning  forced  them  to  keep  silence  for 
some  time.  At  length  all  was  still,  and 
Harry  ventured  to  speak  again. 

"Oh,  Katie,"  said  he,  "can't  you  do 
something  with  that  wretched  woman  ?" 

"No,"  said  Katie.  "I'm  sure  all  I  say 
only  makes  her  worse.  She  wants  me  now 
to  address  her  as  'Your  Majesty  !' " 

"  She's  mad,"  said  Harry ;  "  the  woman's 
utterly  mad !" 

"  Well,  she's  got  some  great  secret  now 
which  she  won't  tell.  As  'His  Majesty' 
was  leaving,  the  last  time,  he  kept  up  some 
very  mysterious  whisperings  with  her.  I've 
been  teasing  her  all  day  to  tell  me  what 
they  were,  but  in  vain.  She's  as  close  as 
the  grave.  A  great  crisis  is  approaching. 
And  the  fun  of  it  is  she  doesn't  know  that 
it's  me,  and  not  her,  that  'His  Majesty' 
means." 

"  You  !     Oh,  Katie,  don't  talk  in  that  in 
different  way." 
"Why?" 

"  Oh,  don't  you  see  ?  You  are  here  so 
much  in  his  power.  Oh,  we  must  fly.  I'll 
hunt  along  the  passage  to-night,  and  I'm 
sure  I'll  find  something.  I'm  sure  there 
must  be  a  way  out." 


100 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


"But  I  don't  want  to  go,"  said  Katie; 
"  that  is,  not  just  yet." 

"  Not  want  to  go  ?" 

"  No,  not  till  I  have  some  more  fun,  and 
see  how  this  is  going  to  end ;  but — " 

Here  Katie  stopped  abruptly  and  clutch 
ed  Harry's  arm  convulsively.  Harry,  too, 
at  the  same  instant  started,  and  both  stood 
peering  into  the  dark,  and  listening  atten 
tively. 

For  there  had  come  a  sudden  noise. 

It  was  a  very  peculiar  and  a  very  start 
ling  noise.  It  was  a  low,  shuffling  sound, 
as  of  some  one  moving  stealthily,  and  it 
arose  from  the  direction  of  the  fireplace — 
the  very  place  where  Harry's  retreat  would 
lie  in  case  of  discovery.  But  now  that  re 
treat  seemed  cut  off;  and  there  seemed  to 
be  some  one  there  who,  perhaps,  had  come 
on  his  track.  Harry's  only  thought  was 
that  his  room  had  been  entered  and  his 
absence  discovered,  upon  which  his  guards 
had  at  once  come  through  in  search  of  him. 
How  many  there  were  he  could  not  tell. 
He  could  do  nothing,  however.  He  could 
only  stand  still  and  watch.  Soon,  he 
thought,  others  would  come  ;  lights  would 
be  produced,  and  he  would  be  discovered. 

"  Leave  me  !"  said  Harry,  in  a  faint  whis 
per.  "  It's  one  of  the  guards.  I'm  lost  1" 

Katie's  answer  thrilled  through  every 
nerve  of  the  listener. 

"  Then  if  you  are  lost,  I  will  be  lost  with 
you !" 

Saying  this,  she  twined  both  her  arms 
round  his  arm,  and  held  it  pressed  tight 
to  her  throbbing  heart. 

Harry  stood  erect,  vigilant,  staring. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

HOTT  SEVERAL   OF    OUR    FRIENDS    FIND    THEMSELVES 
IN   A   MOST   EXTRAORDINARY   SITUATION. 

So  Harry  stood,  with  his  retreat  cut  off, 
staring  into  the  darkness,  while  Katie, 
clinging  to  him,  awaited  the  result.  Harry 
expected  every  minute  that  lights  would 
be  produced  and  everything  revealed.  But 
the  lights  did  not  come,  and  the  discovery 
was  delayed.  There  occurred  a  pause,  dur 
ing  which  Harry  waited,  after  which  the 
sliding,  shuffling  sounds  recommenced. 

They  now  came  nearer.  Then  came  the 
sound  of  a  stealthy  footfall— very  slow,  too, 
and  very  cautious.  The  new-comer,  the 
supposed  pursuer,  whoever  he  was,  seemed 


now  to  be  in  the  room,  and  cautiously  ad 
vancing.  As  yet  he  was  under  the  shadow, 
and  was,  therefore,  invisible  in  the  gloom ; 
but  he  was  approaching  the  place  where 
the  moonbeams  fell — where  he  might  be 
seen.  Harry  noted  this,  and  wondered  how 
many  more  of  them  there  might  be.  Katie 
also  looked  up  now,  and  stood  listening. 
Both  of  these  were  waiting  for  a  chance  to 
separate,  if  possible— Katie  to  go  back  to 
her  own  place,  and  Harry  to  fly  back  to 
his  room. 

At  length  the  advancing  figure  reached 
the  place  where  the  moonbeams  fell,  and 
here  he  entered  the  moonlight,  so  that  it 
was  possible  to  see  his  outline,  though  not 
to  distinguish  features.  It  was  a  man — 
he  was  unarmed,  and  all  his  gestures  and 
motions  indicated  excessive  caution  and 
watchfulness.  Harry  and  Katie  both  saw 
him,  as  he  groped  about  and  peered 
through  the  gloom. 

"  It's  '  His  Majesty,'  "  said  Katie. 

"  H-s-s-s-h  !"  said  Harry. 

The  slight,  whispered  sounds  seemed  to 
catch  the  ears  of  the  visitor.  He  stood  and 
listened.  But  the  sounds  were  not  repeat 
ed,  and  he  resumed  his  progress. 

"•I  know  who  it  is,"  said  Harry,  in  the 
faintest  possible  whisper. 

"  Who  ?" 

"  It's  Ash  by,"  said  Harry. 

Katie  said  not  a  word  in  reply,  but  the 
effect  of  that  name  upon  her  was  none  the 
less  manifest.  The  hands  which  had  been 
clasping  Harry's  arm  relaxed  their  hold  ; 
she  moved  away  from  him.  Harry  caught 
her  hand  and  tried  to  detain  her,  but  Katie 
snatched  it  away,  and  Harry  was  afraid  to 
insist.  It  was  evident  that  she  was  offend 
ed  ;  and  at  what  ?  Was  it  at  the  mention 
of  Ashby's  name  ?  And  but  a  moment  be 
fore  she  had  said  that  she  would  share  his 
fate — "  Then  if  you  are  lost,  I  will  be  lost 
with  you  !"  Those  were  her  words.  And 
now  she  was  offended  ! 

Harry  could  not  believe  it.  He  took  a 
step  after  her  and  found  her  again.  He 
sought  again  to  take  her  hand.  It  was 
not  now  refused.  Katie  seemed  to  have 
overcome  her  irritation.  The  quarrel  was 
over.  So  overjoyed  was  he  that  he  put  his 
arms  round  her  slender  form,  and  uncon 
sciously  pressed  her  close  to  his  heart, 
while  her  head  sank  down  on  his  breast, 
And  there,  all  the  time,  only  a  few  paces 
off,  was  Ashby  himself! 

But  the  beauty  of  it  was  that  Ashby  just 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


101 


then  was  not  thinking  of  Katie  at  all.  He 
had  come  here  to  see  Dolores.  For  her  he 
was  making  this  venture,  having  stolen  in 
through  the  passage-way  which  she  had 
shown  him.  He  had  promised,  it  is  true, 
not  to  visit  her  except  in  cases  of  extreme 
necessity;  but  as  he  had  felt  very  lonely, 
lie  concluded  that  this  was  the  necessity  in 
question,  and  had  come  to  this  place. 

The  room  seemed  to  him  very  silent. 
He  had  come  down  the  chimney  with  very 
little  noise,  and  had  surveyed  the  scene 
from  the  dark  recesses  of  the  fireplace. 
The  corners  of  the  room  were  all  in  dark 
ness,  but  the  floor  was  illuminated  here  and 
there  by  the  moonbeams.  Having  thus 
taken  a  general  view,  Ashby  could  do  noth 
ing  else  but  go  forward ;  and  this  he  did, 
thinking  that  every  one  was  asleep,  and 
that  by  some  happy  luck  he  would  find 
Dolores. 

As  for  Dolores,  she  was  not  asleep  at  that 
time,  nor  had  she  been  asleep  at  all.  Katie 
had  taken  for  granted  that  the  beautiful 
Spaniard  was  in  the  land  of  forgetfulness ; 
but  Katie  had  never  in  her  life  been  more 
entirely  mistaken.  Dolores  was  wide  awake, 
and  had  been  engaged  in  thoughts  and 
speculations  which  made  sleep  impossible. 
It  was  nothing 'less  than  a  plan  of  escape, 
over  which  her  busy  brain  was  occupied, 
and  there  were  certain  difficulties  about  it, 
through  which  she  could  not  see  her  way 
clearly.  It  was  over  these  that  she  was 
puzzling  her  brain  when  her  attention  was 
roused  by  certain  strange  movements  in 
the  room. 

These  were,  first,  the  movements  of  Katie 
as  she  stole  to  the  fireplace  and  waited 
there. 

Secondly,  the  movements  of  Harry  as  he 
shuffled  down  to  Katie's  side. 

Thirdly,  the  preliminary  whisperings  of 
Harry  and  Katie. 

Fourthly,  the  movements  of  these  two 
out  of  the  fireplace  into  the  corner  of  the 
room. 

Fifthly,  their  continuous  whisperings, 
which  sometimes  were  so  animated  that 
they  might  have  wakened  any  sleeper. 

Over  all  this  Dolores  was  deeply  agita 
ted.  "Who,  she  asked  herself,  was  this  vis 
itor  to  Katie?  It  could  be  one,  and  one 
only.  That  one  was  Ashby?  She  had 
shown  him  the  way.  He  alone  knew  it. 
He  had  promised  her  not  to  come,  but  he 
had  broken  his  word  and  had  come.  And 
why?  Not  for  her,  but  for  his  English 


maiden!  There  were  these  two  now  plot 
ting  and  whispering  in  her  presence,  and 
that,  too,  after  Ashby  had  disowned  with 
scorn  this  English  maiden,  and  had  spoken 
such  words  to  her!  What  could  she  do 
now  ?  For  such  outraged  love,  such  treach 
ery,  and  such  intolerable  insult,  what  re 
venge  could  suffice  ? 

Revenge !  Yes,  nothing  less  than  re 
venge  !  For  Dolores  was  not  one  of  those 
tender  and  sensitive  creatures  who  could 
lie  down  and  die  under  a  cruel  wrong. 
Her  ardent  Southern  nature  was  roused  to 
fury,  and  she  remained  there  motionless,  but  • 
like  some  wild,  beast  ready  to  start  from  its 
lair  when  the  prey  is  at  hand.  Away  now 
went  all  thoughts  of  flight  with  Ashby. 
Vengeance  alone  remained  for  her  to  think 
of — vengeance  full  and  complete,  which 
should  involve  both  Ashby  and  the  Eng 
lish  maiden.  What  this  vengeance  was  to 
be,  however,  she  could  not  think  of  as  yet ; 
but  she  knew  that  in  order  to  make  it  as 
full  and  complete  as  possible,  it  would  be 
necessary  to  think  it  all  over  from  every 
point  of  view. 

In  this  amiable  frame  of  mind  Dolores 
was  thus  waiting  and  listening — stung  to 
madness  by  every  new  whisper,  and  nour 
ishing  her  own  rage  all  the  more  every 
moment— until  at  length  she  became  grad 
ually  aware  of  a  sound  proceeding  from 
another  quarter,  and  not  coming  from  the 
two  whisperers  in  the  corner  at  all.  There 
was  some  one  in  the  fireplace— some  new 
comer  who  had  approached  by  that  way. 
What  did  this  mean  ?  Who  could  this  be  ? 
Did  others  know  of  the  secret  passage-way  ? 
If  so,  then  her  surroundings  were  very  dif 
ferent  from  what  she  had  supposed,  and 
her  whole  course  of  action  would  have  to 
be  changed. 

Dolores  watched,  and  at  length  saw  the 
figure  of  the  new-comer  quite  distinct  in 
the  moonlight,  yet  not  so  distinct  as  to 
enable  her  to  ascertain  who  it  was.  The 
idea  was  so  firmly  fixed  in  her  mind  that 
the  first  coiner  was  Ashby,  that  she  could 
only  suppose  this  new  visitor  to  be  one  of 
the  Carlists,  perhaps  "His  Majesty"  him*- 
self. 

Meanwhile  this  new-comer  had  been 
stealthily  moving  along,  and  Dolores 
watched  and  listened.  Now  was  the  time 
which  she  might  seize,  if  she  chose,  as  the 
time  for  vengeance.  If  this  were  really 
one  of  the  Carlists,  above  all,  if  this  were 
"His  Majesty,"  she  might  have  sweet  re- 


102 


A  CASTLE  IX  SPAIX. 


venge  by  denouncing  the  false  traitor  Ash- 
by  on  the  spot,  before  he  could  escape.  It 
would  be  sweet  to  see  the  dismay  of  the 
traitor  when  thus  discovered  under  her 
own  eyes.  Still,  even  in  that  hour  of  her 
madness  and  her  fury,  she  felt  that  before 
taking  the  irrevocable  step  and  denounc 
ing  Ashby  it  would  be  necessary  to  be  per 
fectly  sure.  So  Dolores  waited. 

Mean  while  Ashby  in  his  progress  had 
passed  beyond  the  place  where  Dolores 
was,  and  had  traversed  more  than  half  the 
apartment.  At  this  moment  he  was  at 
fault,  and  felt  anxious  to  know  where  to 
direct  his  way.  He  thought  the  best  way 
would  be  to  try  first  if  Dolores  was  awake. 
And  so,  in  a  thin,  low,  but  very  distinct 
whisper,  he  said : 

"  Do-lo-res !" 

Dolores  heard  it.  Well  she  knew  that 
in  the  castle  there  was  no  one  who  called 
her  by  that  name— save  one.  Instantly  a 
wild  revulsion  of  feeling  took  place.  She 
had  mistaken  —  the  first  visitor  was  not 
Ashby.  Ashby  was  not  false.  He  was 
true.  He  had  come,  but  he  had  come  for 
her  —  herself.  It  was  her  name  that  he 
called.  In  that  sudden  revulsion  of  feel 
ing  she  almost  shouted  for  joy.  She  start 
ed  up,  and,  regardless  of  everything  but 
her  own  heart,  was  about  to  steal  toward 
Ashby,  when  suddenly  she  was  arrested  in 
her  attempt. 

There  arose  another  sound  from  some 
one  near  the  door. 

"Here,  here,"  said  a  whisper  —  "here  I 
am.  How  long  you've  been  !'' 

Ashby  heard  this  voice,  and  thinking  it 
was  Dolores,  hurried  there.  Dolores  heard 
it,  understood  Ashby's  action,  and  sank 
down  in  consternation  and  despair.  Katie 
and  Harry  heard  it,  and  thought  it  was 
"His  Majesty"  on  his  way  to  Mrs.  Rus 
sell.  And  they  thought  that  others  of 
"His  Majesty's"  followers  were  in  the 
chimney. 

Ashby  saw  a  figure  dimly  defined  in  the 
gloom.  It  was  indistinguishable.  He  took 
it  for  Dolores.  So  he  folded  that  figure 
fondly  in  his  arms,  and  the  "  figure  "  recip 
rocated  to  the  fullest  extent. 

"  Oh,  my  own  love  and  darling !"  sighed 
Ashby,  in  Spanish. 

Mrs.  Russell  understood  not  a  word  of 
Spanish.  She  thought,  however,  that  if 
"  His  Majesty"  could  express  himself  more 
freely  in  that  language  it  was  certainly 
quite  natural  for  him  to  use  it ;  yet  it  did 


seem  rather  unfair  to  her  to  come  here  and 
talk  love  and  use  endearing  expressions  in 
an  unknown  tongue.  "  His  Majesty  "  seem 
ed  very  eloquent  and  strongly  agitated, 
yet  Mrs.  Russell  could  not  make  out  what 
he  said,  nor  had  she  a  chance  to  explain. 

For  in  the  midst  of  all  this  there  occur 
red  a  new  interruption.  This  was  the 
sound  of  a  key  turning  in  the  door.  The 
door  opened  immediately  behind  Mrs.  Rus 
sell,  and  a  soft  voice,  said  in  familiar  tones 
and  in  a  husky  whisper : 

"  Whis-s-s-s-sht,  darlin'— are  ye  awake, 
thin!  Sure  I  hope  the  gyerruls  are 
aslape." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

IX  WHICH  THE  WHOLE   PARTY  FIND  THEMSELVES  IS 
A  HAUNTED  CASTLE. 

AT  the  opening  of  the  door  and  the 
sound  of  the  voice  Ashby  started  back  and 
retreated.  He  was  very  much  puzzled  at 
the  Irish  brogue,  and  could  only  think  that 
a  stray  Paddy  might  be  among  the  Car- 
lists.  However,  there  was  no  time  to  wait, 
so  he  sought  to  regain  the  fireplace.  But 
as  he  did  so  a  figure  came  in  his  way,  arms 
were  flung  about  him,  and  a  low,  faint 
whisper  came  close  to  his  ear: 

"Oh,  Assebi!  I  am  Dolores;  that  other 
is  Mrs.  Russell.  Fly,  or  you  are  lost !" 

Here  was  a  new  shock  for  Ashby,  but  he 
did  not  lose  Ids  presence  of  mind.  The 
new-comer  was  still  at  the  door.  He  was 
not  followed.  All  this  he  noted  as  he 
stood  for  a  moment  or  so  holding  Dolores 
in  his  arms. 

As  for  Mrs.  Russell,  nothing  could  ex 
ceed  her  amazement  and  terror  when  "  His 
Majesty  "  came  in  behind  her  at  the  very 
moment  when  she  supposed  herself  to  be 
in  "  His  Majesty's"  arms.  It  was  unintel 
ligible — nay,  even  frightful. 

"  Weren't  you — your  Majesty — here— just 
now  ?"  she  stammered. 

"  Me !  Us !  Here  ?  Divil  a  bit  av  us ! 
We've  just  come,"  was  the  reply. 

"  But  who  was  it  ?     Some  one  was  here." 

"  Some  one  ?"  said  "  His  Majesty."  "  Oh, 
maybe  it  was  our  r'y'l  footstep." 

"  No — but  some  one  was  talking  Span 
ish." 

"  Walkin'  Spanish,  ye  mane,"  replied  the 
august  monarch.  "  Sure  nobody's  been 
talkin'  Spanish  here  at  all  at  all." 


"HE    TOOK    IT    FOR   DOLORES. 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


103 


"  But,  your  Majesty,  some  one  was  here 
— talking  to  me — close  to  me." 

"  Shure  it  was  one  av  the  gyerruls." 

"  No  ;  it  was  a — a  man  !" 

"  A  man  !"  exclaimed  "  His  Majesty,"  in 
surprise. 

"  Yes." 

"  What !  here  in  this  room  ?" 

"  Yes." 

u  Shure  ye've  been  dramin' — so  ye  have  ; 
or  else — maybe  it  was  the  castle  ghost." 

"  The  ghost !"  groaned  Mrs.  Russell. 
"  Oh,  your  Majesty  !  Oh,  my  own  one  ! 
Oh,  save  me  !  Don't — don't  let  it  come 
near  me  !" 

And,  flinging  her  arms  around  the  royal 
person,  Mrs.  Russell  clung  to  it,  sobbing 
hysterically. 

a  Shure — whisht,  will  yez,  or  ye'll  waken 
up  the  gyerruls,"  said  the  monarch.  "  I'll 
protect  yez,  if  ye'll  let  me,  so  I  will." 

"  Oh  !"  said  Mrs.  Russell,  clinging  more 
closely  to  "  His  Majesty,"  "  do  you  hear 
that  ?" 

"  What  ?" 

"  That  noise  !" 

"  What  noise  ?" 

"  I  heard  a  wow-wow-whisper  !"  sobbed 
the  lady. 

"  A  whisper — nonsinse  !"  said  "  His  Maj 
esty." 

"Oh, listen!"  said  Mrs.Russell,holdinghim 
tight,  so  that  he  could  not  get  free.  At  this 
"  His  Majesty  "  remained  perfectly  still,  and 
listened.  There  certainly  were  some  low,  in 
distinct  sounds,  among  which  were  whispers. 

"  Shure  it's  the  gyerruls,"  said  "  His  Maj 
esty."  "  That's  what  it  is." 

"  Oh,  look  !  look  !"  cried  Mrs.  Russell. 
"  The  ghost !  the  ghost !" 

And  with  a  loud  cry  Mrs.  Russell  fell 
back.  "  His  Majesty  "  encircled  her  with 
the  royal  arms,  and  gently  deposited  her  on 
the  floor,  standing  thus  in  deep  perplexity. 
But  at  this  instant  a  sight  caught  his  eye 
which  made  him  start.  It  was  Ashby's 
figure  traversing  the  room,  through  the 
moonlight.  He  had  waited  up  to  the  last 
moment  and  had  just  taken  his  departure, 
but  as  he  moved  along  the  floor  toward  the 
chimney  the  royal  eye  saw  him. 

"  Be  jabers  !"  said  "  His  Majesty,"  "  ghost 
or  no  ghost,  I  must  see  to  this.  The  cas 
tle's  haunted  as  sure  as  a  gun,  but  that  isn't 
the  figure  an'  farrum  av  a  maydoiayval 
ghost,  so  it  isn't." 

Mrs.  Russell  now  revived,  and  struggled 
up  to  her  feet. 


"  Is — is — it  gig-gig-gone  ?•"  she  asked, 
with  a  shudder. 

"  Sorra  a  one  av  me  knows,"  said  "  His 
Majesty."  "I'm  going  to  invistigate." 

"  Oh  !"  wailed  Mrs.  Russell,  "  leave  me 
not — oh,  Your  Sacred  Majesty,  desert  me 
not !" 

"  Shure  I'm  only  going  to  get  loights," 
said  "  His  Majesty." 

"  Oh,  forsake  me  not !    Be  not  so  cruel !" 

"  Crool !  Ah,  be  off  wid  yer  nonsinse  !" 
said  "  His  Majesty."  "  Whisht  now,  jool — 
sure  I'll  be  back  in  a  jiffy.  If  it's  any  one 
that's  got  in,  I'll  find  him  whin  I  come 
back ;  an'  if  it's  a  ghost,  why,  it's  just  as 
well  to  know  it." 

"  Oh,  your  Majesty,"  cried  Mrs.  Russell, 
"  do  not  forsake  me  !  Without  you  it  is 
too — too — too  horrible  !" 

"  Shure  ain't  I  telling  yez,"  said  "  His  Maj 
esty,"  "  that  I'm  only  goin'  to  get  loights, 
an'  that  I'll  be  back  in  a  jiffy  ?  Be  quiet, 
now,  an'  it  '11  be  all  right." 

With  these  words  "His  Majesty"  tried 
gently  but  firmly  to  disengage  Mrs.  Rus 
sell's  clasped  arms  from  about  his  neck. 
This  he  found  much  difficulty  in  doing, 
but  at  length  he  succeeded  in  getting  free. 
After  this  he  went  out,  locking  the  door 
behind  him. 

After  about  five  minutes  he  returned 
with  a  blazing  torch,  followed  by  half  a 
dozen  men,  who  remained  outside  awaiting 
his  summons,  while  "His  Majesty"  alone 
went  in.  The  moment  that  the  door  open 
ed  to  admit  him,  some  one  came  rushing 
into  his  arms  with  such  violence  as  almost 
to  extinguish  the  torch  and  upset  the  royal 
person.  "  His  Majesty  "  recovered  himself, 
however,  and  uttered  several  ejaculations 
which  in  any  less  distinguished  person 
would  certainly  have  sounded  like  pro 
fanity. 

"  Be  aisy,  now,  will  yez  ?"  he  said,  in  a 
milder  voice,  "  an'  howld  away  yer  arrums, 
jool,  till  I  invistigate  the  primisis.  If  it's 
a  livin'  man  I'll  fix  him ;  an'  if  it's  a  ghost 
— begorra,  I'll — let  him  go." 

With  these  words  "His  Majesty"  suc 
ceeded  in  extricating  himself  from  the 
clutches  of  Mrs.  Russell,  and,  holding  aloft 
the  torch,  began  to  walk  about  the  room, 
looking  closely  everywhere,  while  Mrs. 
Russell  followed  at  his  heels,  entreating 
him  to  take  care  of  his  royal  person. 

"  Arrah,  shure,  now,"  said  "  His  Majesty," 
"we're  accustomed  to  danger.  We  don't 
moind  throifles  like  this — not  a  bit  av  it : 


104 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


"  'For  clivil  a  bit  av  me  cares, 

I'm  ready  to  tackle  the  foe ; 
If  alive,  let  him  fight  if  he  dares, 
If  he's  dead,  to  the  dogs  let  him  go.'  " 

By  this  time  the  noise  and  the  flaming- 
torches  had  seemed  to  rouse  up  Katie  and 
Dolores.  Both  of  these  now  stood  up, 
blinking  and  shrinking,  clinging  timidly 
to  one  another,  and  looking  like  two  fright 
ened  children  just  awakened.  They  seem 
ed  so  surprised,  so  confused,  and  so  ter 
rified,  that  the  heart  of  "His  Majesty" 
swelled  with  pity  and  compassion. 

"Ladies!  jools!"  said  he,  "don't,  don't 
give  way.  Shure  it's  all  over  now,  so  it  is, 
an'  yez  needn't  be  a  bit  afraid  any  more." 

"  What's  all  over  ?"  asked  Katie,  in  a 
tone  of  alarm. 

"  What  ?     Why— shure  nothin'." 

"  There  was  some  one  in  the  room,"  said 
Mrs.  Russell,  in  frightened  tones. 

"  Some  one  in  the  room !"  cried  Katie, 
in  a  voice  so  full  of  terror  that  it  became 
a  positive  shriek.  "  Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  Who  ? 
who?  What?  what?" 

Never  was  terror  more  eloquently  depict 
ed  on  any  human  face  than  on  Katie's  ex 
pressive  countenance  on  this  occasion.  She 
flung  herself  into  Dolores's  arms  and  clung 
to  her.  Dolores  said  nothing,  but  clung  to 
Katie  in  silence. 

"  Alarrums  av  this  sort,"  said  "  His  Maj 
esty,"  "isn't  shuited  to  their  delicate,  nar- 
vous  systems — so  they  isn't.  I've  got  a 
dhrop  av  whiskey  about  me,  if —  But  I 
suppose  they  wouldn't  care  for  it." 

With  these  words  "His  Majesty"  ap 
proached  Katie  for  the  purpose  of  soothing 
her,  or  of  paying  her  some  delicate  compli 
ment,  but  Katie  contrived  to  keep  Dolores 
between  herself  and  the  royal  wooer  till 
the  R.  W.  felt  baffled. 

"  Shure  it's  very  clisthressin',  so  it  is,"  said 
he,  as  he  turned  away.  "But  I'll  take  a 
luk  round." 

He  looked  all  around,  walked  by  the 
walls,  gravely  peered  into  the  fireplace, 
and  at  length  came  back. 

"  There's  no  one  here,"  said  he. 

"  But  I  saw  some  one,"  said  Mrs.  Russell. 

"  Shure,  thin,  it  was  no  livin'  man  ye  saw, 
an'  there  ye  have  it." 

"  No  living  man  !"  screamed  Mrs.  Russell. 

"  Shure  no  ;  how  could  it  have  been  ? 
Wouldn't  I  a  seen  him,  an'  me  wid  a 
loight  ?" 

"  Then  it's  a  ghost !"  said  Mrs.  Russell, 
with  another  scream. 


"Divil  a  one  else,"  said  "His  Majesty." 
"It's  the  castle  ghost — only  I  don't  see 
why  he  came  in  modern  coschume.  But 
perhaps  it  isn't  the  castle  ghost.  It  may 
be  the  last  prisoner  that  wras  shot." 

This  last  suggestion  was  unspeakably 
horrible  to  Mrs.  Russell.  Well  she  knew 
who  that  last  prisoner  was  !  The  last  pris 
oner  !  Oh,  horror !  and  the  apparition 
was  It!  And  It  had  come  to  her! — em 
braced  her ! — spoke  wrords  of  love  !  It  was 
He! — her  once  loved  but  now  lost  Johnny ! 

The  thought  was  too  much.  With  a 
wild  yell,  she  flung  her  arms  around  "  His 
Majesty"  and  fainted. 

"It's  mesilf,"said  "His Majesty,"  placid 
ly,  "that  'ud  be  the  proud  man  to  shtay  here 
an'  watch  wid  yez  agin  the  ghost,  but  juty 
calls  me  elsewhere."  As  he  said  this,  he 
tried  to  detach  the  arms  of  Mrs.  Russell, 
who  now  clung  to  him  with  rigid  and 
death-like  tenacity.  This,  however,  lie 
could  not  do,  and  as  her  weight  was  con 
siderable,  he  gravely  seated  himself  on  the 
floor,  and  implored  Katie  and  Dolores  to 
help  him.  This  they  did,  and  their  united 
efforts  succeeded  in  loosening  Mrs.  Rus 
sell's  grasp.  The  stricken  lady  gave  a 
gasp  and  raised  her  head,  but  "His  Majes 
ty  "  was  too  nimble  for  her.  By  a  desper 
ate  movement  he  withdrew  from  her  reach, 
and  stood  for  a  moment  at  a  respectable 
distance. 

"  Ladies,"  said  he,  "  it's  mesilf  that  'ud 
be  the  proud  man  to  shtay ;  but  there's  no 
danger  in  the  worruld  —  not  the  laste  in 
loife,  an'  tliis  lady  requires  your  care.  So 
I'm  thinkin'  I'll  be  off,  an'  if  anythin'  hap 
pens  agin,  you  sing  out." 

Saying  these  words,  "  His  Majesty  "  left 
the  room  somewhat  more  hurriedly  than 
he  had  entered  it.  His  departure  com 
pleted  Mrs.  Russell's  prostration.  For  the 
remainder  of  the  night  she  refused  to  be 
comforted,  but  remained  terrified,  lament 
ing  bitterly,  and  exclaiming  incessantly: 
"  Oh,  why  did  he  leave  me  ! — why,  oh,  why 
did  he  leave  me  !" 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

IN    WHICH   HARFvY   MAKES    AN    UNPLEASANT    DISCOV 
ERT. 

HARRY  had  been  the  first  to  escape  from 
the  room.  He  had  waited  long,  fearing 
lest  others  might  be  in  the  chimney ;  but 
at  length,  as  the  actions  of  the  new-comer 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


105 


did  not  seem  consistent  with  those  of  a 
pursuer,  he  had  concluded  to  risk  it.  He 
had  then  entered  the  chimney,  and  was  able 
to  reach  his  own  room  in  safety.  Ashby 
had  not  left  until  the  very  last  moment, 
when  the  door  had  already  opened  to  ad 
mit  "  His  Majesty,"  so  that  the  two  had  not 
met.  But  Harry,  on  reaching  his  own  room, 
stood  for  a  long  time  in  the  fireplace,  listen 
ing  ;  and  as  he  listened,  he  felt  sure  that  he 
heard  sounds,  and  these  sounds  seemed  as 
though  made  by  pursuers.  Upon  this  he 
flung  himself  upon  his  bed,  where  he  lay 
motionless  for  nearly  an  hour,  until  it  seem 
ed  scarcely  possible  that  there  could  be 
any  further  danger. 

He  now  thought  of  returning  to  the 
room,  but  after  a  little  consideration  de 
cided  not  to.  No  doubt  they  would  all 
be  awake,  perhaps  also  others  might  be 
there,  and  to  go  back  might  lead  to  discov 
ery,  and  destroy  all  further  chances  of  see 
ing  Katie.  Still,  the  thought  would  not 
be  dismissed.  Sleep  was  impossible,  and 
he  lay  awake,  recalling  the  events  of  the 
night. 

At  length  there  occurred  to  his  mind  the 
thought  of  those  Spanish  bonds  which  he 
had  found  and  hidden  away  so  carefully. 
He  had  not  visited  the  place  since,  or  rath 
er,  he  had  not  looked  at  the  hiding-place. 
He  determined  to  do  so  now  merely  for  the 
sake  of  reassuring  himself  as  to  the  safety 
of  those  precious  papers.  For  Katie's  fort 
une  lay  wrapped  up  in  that  parcel,  and  he 
was  anxious  that  he  should  be  the  means 
of  saving  it  for  her.  In  addition  to  this,  he 
was  anxious  to  search  carefully  along  the 
passage-way,  to  see  if  there  might  not  be 
openings  which  had  thus  far  escaped  him 
— which  might  possibly  lead  to  the  outer 
world. 

He  provided  himself  with  his  torch  and 
found  that  he  had  matches  enough.  He 
then  climbed  up  into  the  passage-way,  and 
lighted  his  torch ;  after  which  he  proceed 
ed  onward  until  he  reached  the  chink 
where  the  package  had  been  deposited. 
Here  he  stooped  down  and  held  the  light 
close. 

The  first  sight  showed  nothing.  But 
the  string  which  he  had  left  hanging  out 
was,  as  he  knew,  not  very  perceptible,  so  he 
held  the  light  closer  and  felt  for  it.  Even 
then  he  found  nothing. 

He  now  thought  that  perhaps  the  pack 
age  had  fallen  by  its  own  weight  a  little 
farther  in,  drawing  the  string  after  it.  In 


order  to  find  whether  this  were  so  or  not, 
he  reached  his  hand  into  the  chink. 

No  sooner  had  he  done  this  than  he 
snatched  it  away,  and  sat  there  staring. 

The  chink  was  very  much  larger  than 
it  had  been  before. 

There  was  no  doubt  about  this.  Then 
it  had  been  barely  wide  enough  to  admit 
the  package.  Now  he  could  easily  thrust 
his  whole  arm  into  the  opening. 

It  was  utterly  unaccountable.  By  some 
incomprehensible  means  that  crevice  had 
been  enlarged.  The  whole  stone,  he  now 
saw,  had  been  thrust  forward  several 
inches  into  the  passage-way.  It  seemed  as 
if  nothing  short  of  an  earthquake  could 
suffice  to  move  from  its  place  such  a  stone 
as  that.  In  itself  it  appeared  to  be  of  vast 
size  and  weight,  and  below  it,  and  above 
it,  and  on  either  side,  were  others  equally 
vast.  How  was  it  possible  for  such  a  rock 
to  be  thus  dislodged  ?  By  an  earthquake  ? 
But  nothing  of  the  kind  had  occurred.  He 
was  a  light  sleeper,  and  was  easily  aroused 
by  anything  unusual.  Could  the  castle 
have  "settled?"  Impossible.  It  was  too 
old.  It  had  long  since  shaken  down  into 
its  deep  bed.  Still,  old  buildings  do  often 
settle,  and  in  fault  of  any  better  explana 
tion  he  was  compelled  to  adopt  something 
like  this. 

In  any  event,  there  seemed  very  great 
danger  that  the  package  had  been  lost. 
Again  and  again  he  thrust  his  arm  far  in, 
but  found  only  vacancy.  Then  he  put  his 
hand  downward  as  far  as  he  could.  It 
touched  something  which  felt  like  a  stone 
pavement.  This  pavement  was  about  eight 
inches  lower  than  the  one  upon  which  he 
was.  All  this  made  the  matter  still  more 
incomprehensible. 

But  Harry  had  come  forth  to  seek  after 
this  very  thing,  namely,  some  mysterious 
opening  into  a  side-passage,  and  after  the 
first  surprise  it  occurred  to  him  that  this 
might  be  what  he  wished  to  find.  And 
now  the  fact  of  the  stone  jutting  forth  be 
came  intelligible,  though  this  new  expla 
nation  promised  ill  for  the  safety  of  the 
aackage.  It  was  evident  that  this  stone 
was  movable,  and  afforded  in  some  way 
an  entrance  to  this  passage.  It  seemed 
trange  that  so  vast  a  stone  should  be 
movable,  yet  there  was  the  fact.  Perhaps 
also  it  was  less  massive  than  it  seemed. 
Perhaps  it  was  a  mere  slab  and  opened 
ike  a  door. 
But  how  ? 


106 


A  CASTLE    IN  SPAIN. 


He  now  examined  its  surface  with  the 
most  careful  and  minute  scrutiny.  In  vain. 
Over  all  the  surface  and  over  all  the  edges 
there  was  nothing  that  indicated  any  means 
by  which  such  a  stone  could  be  moved — 
nothing  of  the  nature  of  hinges,  and 
nothing  of  the  nature  of  a  handle,  by 
which  to  grasp  it  so  as  to  move  it.  Yet  it 
was  movable,  and  had  been  moved  lately. 
Perhaps  it  could  be  moved  without  any 
help  from  a  handle. 

He  now  thrust  his  arm  through,  and, 
grasping  it,  pulled  at  it  with  all  his 
strength.  His  utmost  effort,  however,  made 
no  impression.  He  found  that  the  stone 
was  massive  within  as  without,  that  it  was 
no  thin  slab,  but  one  which  his  arm  could 
not  surround — at  least  eighteen  inches  in 
solid  thickness  where  his  arm  held  it.  Yet 
the  stone  did  move,  and  had  been  moved. 
The  matter  became  now  more  incompre 
hensible  than  ever.  It  could  be  moved. 
It  had  been  moved,  yet  there  was  a  secret 
contrivance  here  into  which  he  could  not 
penetrate. 

Again  the  thought  came  to  him  of  the 
package  which  contained  Katie's  fortune. 
Some  one  had  been  here.  Had  that  one 
found  the  package  ?  It  must  be  so.  Fool 
that  he  was !  A  second  time  had  that 
precious  package  been  deposited  in  what 
seemed  a  secure  hiding-place,  and  a  second 
time  had  the  hiding-place  proved  almost  a 
public  thoroughfare. 

For  what  seemed  a  long  time  Harry 
examined  that  stone.  In  vain.  The  wall 
arose  before  him  impenetrable.  The  stone 
was  immovable.  Yet  that  stone  seemed 
now  to  him  to  hold  within  itself  the  secret 
not  only  of  the  package,  but  also  of  escape 
and  of  liberty  and  life. 

Harry  at  length  felt  like  giving  up. 
Once  more,  however,  though  now  quite 
hopelessly,  he  examined  the  stone  in  every 
direction,  pressing  with  all  his  strength 
upon  every  part.  And  now  in  this,  the 
very  moment  of  his  utter  hopelessness,  as 
often  happens — at  the  very  time  when  not 
expecting  it,  he  found  what  he  sought. 

At  the  extreme  end  of  the  stone,  more 
than  six  feet  from  the  crevice  where  he 
had  hidden  the  package,  he  pressed  upon 
it,  and  found  that  it  gave  way.  The  press 
ure  was  not  at  all  strong;  yet  to  that 
slight  effort  the  apparently  massive  rock 
yielded  like  a  door,  and  moved  inward 
several  inches. 

In  unspeakable  amazement  and  intense 


excitement  Harry  pushed  it  in  farther,  nn- 
til  he  saw  the  whole  move  in,  at  his  press 
ure,  for  about  two  feet.  An  opening  was 
disclosed.  He  stepped  in  and  looked 
around. 

He  found  himself  in  a  kind  of  chamber 
which  wras  about  four  feet  wide  and  eight 
feet  long.  At  the  end  of  this  was  a  stone 
stair-way  which  went  down.  Harry  looked 
around,  and  took  all  this  in  at  a  glance. 
His  first  thought  was  about  his  package. 

The  package  was  not  there. 

He  had  been  prepared  for  this,  yet  the 
disappointment  was  bitter.  Still  there  was 
consolation  in  the  discovery  which  he  had 
made,  and  his  excitement  and  curiosity 
were  yet  strong.  He  naturally  turned  his 
attention  to  that  stone  which  formed  so 
wonderful  a  door-way,  and  wyhich  had  so 
long  baffled  him. 

He  saw  that  at  the  end,  near  the  crevice, 
the  stone  was  about  eighteen  inches  thick, 
but  that  it  was  all  cut  away  toward  the 
other  end,  till  it  ended  in  a  slab  of  only 
two  inches  in  thickness.  One  end  of  the 
stone  was  thus  a  vast  block,  while  the 
other  was  a  comparatively  thin  slab.  He 
now  understood  the  whole  construction. 
At  the  thick  end  the  door  was  set  with 
stone  pivots,  into  sockets  above  and  below, 
by  means  of  which  it  was  easily  moved. 
The  reason  why  he  could  not  move  it  at 
first  was  because  he  was  exerting  his 
strength  near  the  hinge,  or  pivots,  where, 
of  course,  it  was  thrown  away ;  but  as  soon 
as  he  had  touched  the  farther  edge,  it 
yielded  to  a  slight  pressure.  Here,  inside, 
there  was  a  stone  handle  by  which  it  was 
easily  opened,  while,  outside,  he  thought 
that  it  was  closed  by  swinging  it  as  one 
went  out,  so  that  it  went  by  its  own  weight 
into  its  place. 

After  all,  there  was  nothing  very  strange 
in  this.  Harry  had  read  about  such  stone 
doors.  In  the  accounts  of  the  Moabite 
cities,  mention  is  made  of  something  of 
the  sort ;  and  as  those  have  lasted  for  three 
thousand  years,  this  one  might  well  last 
for  several  hundred. 

But  the  package  1 

There  were  no  traces  of  it,  At  the  hinge 
end  of  the  slab  there  was  a  wedge-shaped 
stone,  by  inserting  which  here  the  door 
could  be  secured  against  opening  from 
without.  Into  this  wedge-shaped  crevice 
he  had  thrust  the  package.  He  saw  also 
that  in  pushing  it  for  in  he  had  only  se 
cured  its  discovery,  for  he  must  have  push- 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


107 


eel  it  so  far  that  the  first  one  who  passed 
had  found  it. 

Now  who  could  that  have  been  ? 

Whoever  it  was,  the  package  was  gone. 
No  doubt  it  was  one  of  the  Carlists,  who 
had  taken  it  to  their  leader.  It  was  gone 
beyond  all  possibility  of  recovery. 

Harry  had  been  so  taken  up  witli  his  ex 
amination  of  these  things  that  he  had  for 
gotten  all  about  the  necessity  of  caution. 
He  stood  there  thus,  in  thought,  the  torch 
brightly  burning,  when  suddenly  he  was 
roused  by  some  one  rushing  up  the  steps. 
He  darted  back  into  the  passage-way,  and 
banged  the  stone  door  after  him.  Too 
late.  In  an  instant  the  pursuer  was  upon 
him  and  had  caught  at  his  coat  collar. 

But  Harry  was  not  the  man  to  give  up  at 
the  first  attack.  Quick  as  lightning,  he 
drew  forth  a  revolver  from  his  breast  pock 
et,  and,  hastily  cocking  it,  turned  to  con 
front  his  assailant. 

One  look  was  enough. 

"  Ashby  !"  he  cried. 

"  You  scoundrel !"  cried  Ashby,  in  a 
fury.  "Scoundrel!  villain!  traitor!" 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

IN  WHICH   THERE    IS   A   VERY   PRETTY   QUARREL. 

IN  order  to  account  for  the  strange  and 
shockingly  rude  language  of  Ashby,  which 
must  be  as  astonishing  to  the  reader  as  it 
was  to  Harry,  it  will  be  necessary  to  go 
back  a  little. 

You  see,  then,  my  dears,  immediately  af 
ter  Harry's  flight,  Ashby  also  had  hurried 
away,  and  had  reached  his  own  room  with 
out  further  adventure.  He  now  began  to 
think  that  he  had  acted  with  mad  folly  and 
recklessness  ;  yet  at  the  same  time  he  could 
not  bring  himself  to  regret  it  at  all.  He 
had  seen  Dolores,  and  that  was  enough, 
and  the  hunger  of  his  heart  was  satisfied, 
for  the  present  at  least. 

Like  Harry,  he  had  a  sense  of  being  pur 
sued,  which  kept  him  for  a  long  time  on 
the  watch,  until  at  length  he  began  to  feel 
safe.  All  the  circumstances  of  his  recent 
adventure  now  came  to  his  memory.  One 
thing  amidst  it  all  gave  him  great  perplex 
ity.  Who  were  in  that  room  ?  There  had 
been  others,  and  he  had  heard  the  motion 
of  one  in  particular  behind  him — some  one 
who  seemed  to  be  moving  under  the  chim 
ney.  Then  came  the  arrival  of  "  His  Maj 


esty."  But  wrho  was  that  other  one  ?  Ash- 
by  did  not  like  the  appearance  of  things  at 
all. 

After  a  time,  as  his  confidence  became 
restored,  he  began  to  think  of  going  back 
again,  just,  as  he  said  to  himself,  for  the 
sake  of  listening  at  the  chimney,  and  see 
ing  that  all  was  right.  Putting  it  in  this 
plausible  way,  the  thought  became  too 
tempting  a  one  to  be  resisted,  and  at  length 
he  started  on  his  way  back. 

The  passage-way,  with  its  secrets,  had 
already  been  shown  him  by  Dolores.  It 
started  from  the  chimney,  and  after  a  few 
feet  came  to  some  steps  which  ascended  to 
the  second  floor,  upon  which  were  situated 
the  rooms  of  Harry  on  the  one  side  and  the 
ladies  on  the  other.  The  steps  thus  led 
upward  toward  the  very  passage-way  which 
Harry  had  been  traversing.  How  they 
opened  into  that  passage-way,  however,  has 
yet  to  be  explained. 

As  Ashby  reached  the  foot  of  the  flight 
of  steps  he  became  aware  of  sounds,  which 
brought  him  to  a  full  stop.  Instead  of  go 
ing  back,  ^however,  he  waited.  Hidden  in 
impenetrable  gloom  at  the  foot  of  the  steps, 
he  could  listen,  and  there  was  no  fear  of 
his  being  seen.  His  only  idea  was  that  the 
Carlists  were  closing  up  the  way. 

At  length  he  noticed  a  faint  gleam  of 
light,  and  after  a  short  interval  he  noticed 
that  it  grew  brighter.  He  then  saw  the 
stone  door  open  inward.  As  he  watched 
he  did  not  move,  being  too  eager  to  know 
what  was  coming,  and  feeling  confident  in 
his  own  obscurity. 

And  now,  as  he  watched,  he  saw  Harry's 
face  suddenly  reveal  itself,  as  it  was  lit  up 
by  the  flaring  torch.  Yes,  it  was  Harry, 
and  there  he  stood,  examining  everything 
in  the  manner  already  described  ;  and  Ash- 
by  was  a  witness  of  all  his  proceedings. 

As  Ashby  looked,  there  came  to  him  a 
multitude  of  dark  and  gloomy  suspicions. 
So  then,  he  thought,  Harry  knows  nil  about 
this  passage,  and  if  so,  he  must  know  where 
it  leads  to.  And  where  was  that  ?  It  was 
to  only  one  place — that  one  room  alone. 
And  what  would  Harry  want  there,  and 
what  would  he  find  ?  He  would  find  her 
—Katie  ! 

Now,  although  Ashby  was  full  of  bitter 
resentment  against  Katie,  and  was,  perhaps, 
quite  in  earnest  in  all  that  he  had  said 
about  her  to  Dolores,  yet  when  he  had  this 
fresh  confirmation  of  something  like  an  un 
derstanding  between  these  two,  he  became 


103 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


filled  with  the  bitterest  jealousy  and  indig 
nation. 

He  had  already  felt  something  of  these 
same  feelings.  He  had  seen  Harry  with 
his  own  eyes  paying  devoted  attentions  to 
Katie,  though  he  knew  that  Katie  was  en 
gaged  to  him.  It  was  this  which  had 
made  him  turn  awray  from  her,  for  he  had 
seen  that  she  was  false  to  him.  Yet  his  re 
sentment  against  her  did  not  lessen  his 
jealousy,  nay,  it  intensified  it.  He  regarded 
Harry  as  guilty  of  an  offence  which  was  at 
once  the  worst  and  the  most  unpardonable. 
He  had  been  false  to  his  friend,  and  that, 
too,  immediately  after  he  had  received  that 
friend's  fullest  confidence,  and  had  prom 
ised  that  friend  his  most  energetic  as 
sistance.  Could  anything  be  worse  than 
this  ? 

And  now  Ashby  saw  through  it  all. 
Harry  had  traversed  that  passage-way.  He 
had  been  in  that  room.  He  had  seen  Ka 
tie.  Of  this  he  had  not  a  doubt.  And 
what  now  ?  No  doubt  he  was  prowling 
about  to  try  to  find  some  way  out,  so  that 
he  might  escape  with  Katie.  . 

Ashby  watched  with  all  these  bitter 
thoughts  in  his  mind,  until  at  length  he 
could  endure  them  no  longer.  He  deter 
mined  to  confront  his  former  friend,  his 
present  enemy,  and  meet  him  face  to  face  ; 
to  charge  him  with  his  perfidy,  and  seek 
for  vengeance.  With  a  leap,  he  bounded 
up  the  steps.  Harry  retreated,  yet  not  so 
fast  but  that  Ashby  caught  up  with  him, 
and  grasped  him  as  lie  was  flying.  Then 
Harry  turned,  pistol  in  hand,  and  the  two 
stood  face  to  face. 

"Ashby!"  cried  Harry. 

And  Ashby  cried  out : 

"  Scoundrel !  villain  !  traitor  !" 

His  face  was  white,  and  his  voice  hoarse 
with  passion. 

Harry  was  confounded. 

"  Hang  it,  Ashby ;  don't  you  know  me  ? 
Are  you  mad  ?" 

"  Know  you !"  cried  Ashby,  bitterly. 
''Thank  Heaven,  I  do  know  you!  I've 
found  you  out,  you  infernal  sneak,  you ! 
Know  you  ?  Good  heavens  !  yes,  I  know 
you  for  a  scoundrel,  and  a  contemptible, 
double-dealing  interloper  and  villain  !" 

Harry  stood  aghast. 

"What  in  the  name  of  Heaven  is  the 
meaning  of  all  this  ?" 

"You've  been  in  that  room!"  cried  Ash- 
by,  pointing  up  the  passage-way. 

"Well,  what  if  I  have?" 


"  What  if  you  have  ?  You  know  what 
you  went  there  for." 

Thus  far  Harry  had  been  too  much 
amazed  to  understand  anything.  But  now 
he  began  to  see  what  it  all  meant. 

"  Oh,  ho  !"  said  he  ;  "  so  that's  it  ?" 

"  That's  it !  of  course  that's  it !"  cried 
Ashby.  "  Isn't  that  enough  ?  sneaking  after 
that  girl,  when  you  know  that  she  is  mine. 
What  the  devil  have  you  got  to  say  for 
yourself?" 

At  this  Harry  began  to  rouse  himself, 
lie  didn't  feel  like  defending  his  conduct ; 
and  now,  as  was  natural,  took  refuge  in  a 
fight. 

"  Confound  you !"  he  cried  ;  "  what  do 
you  mean  by  such  insults  as  these  ?  Who 
are  you  ?  What  business  is  it  of  yours  ?" 

"  She's  engaged  to  me.  I  took  you  into 
my  confidence,  and  you'vne  turned  out  a 
traitor  and  a  sneak." 

Harry  drew  a  long  breath,  and  instantly 
recovered  his  usual  coolness. 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  he,  "you  have  a 
pretty  talent  for  scolding.  Nature  evident 
ly  intended  you  to  be  an  old  woman  ;  but 
doesn't  it  strike  you  that  this  sort  of  thing 
isn't  customary  among  gentlemen,  and  that 
you  are  making  an  infernal  fool  of  yourself? 
Do  you  suppose  I'm  to  ask  your  permission 
where  to  go  in  this  castle  ?  I  found  this 
passage-way  myself,  and  hope  to  find  oth 
ers  also.  And,  by  Jove  !"  he  continued,  as 
at  this  moment  the  thought  of  the  lost  par 
cel  came  to  him,  "  there's  one  matter  I 
should  like  to  settle  with  you  before  wre  go 
any  farther." 

"We  shall  have  to  settle  scverul  mat 
ters." 

"  I  left  a  parcel  in  this  place  a  short  time 
ago.  It  was  a  very  valuable  one.  I  should 
like  to  ask  you  if  you  have  it  ?" 

"  I  ?     I,  sir  ?     I  have  your  parcel  ?" 

"  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  took  it 
knowing  it  to  be  mine." 

"  Oh  !  you  don't,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Mr.  Ashby,  will  you  give  me  a  frank 
answer  to  a  fair  question  ?  Do  you  know 
anything  about  that  parcel  ?" 

"Parcel?  Pooh!"  said  Ashby,  who 
thought  that  this  was  some  transparent 
trick  of  Harry's  to  account  for  his  presence 
here.  "  Confound  you  and  your  parcels !  I 
know  nothing  about  them.  I — 

"  I  ask  you,  did  you  pick  up  that  par 
cel  ?" 

"  And  I  say,  confound  your  parcels  !" 

Harry  was  growing  quite  as  furious  as 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


109 


Ashby.  He  now  felt  certain  that  Ashby 
had  found  it  and  had  it  in  his  possession. 
He  considered  Ashby's  answers  as  palpable 
evasions  of  a  direct  question. 

"Well,  then,"  he  said,  "I  say  that  if  you 
still  keep  that  parcel  after  I  claim  it,  that 
you  are  keeping  property  that  is  not  yours, 
and  you  know  what  that  means !" 

Ashby  gave  a  bitter  laugh. 

"  This  as  a  hint  that  I  am  a  thief,"  said  he. 

"  And  a  pretty  strong  one,  too,  I  rather 
think,"  said  Harry.  "Do  not  imagine  that 
you  have  any  claims  to  that  package  aris 
ing  out  of  any  previous  relations  to  a  cer 
tain  young  lady." 

"A  certain  young  lady!  —  a  package! 
What  do  you  mean  ?  I  neither  know  nor 
care.  I  only  know  that  you  and  I  must 
settle  accounts  with  one  another." 

"  By  Jove,  that's  one  sentiment  in  which 
I  agree !" 

"  If  I  hadn't  found  you  here,  I  might 
have  only  suspected ;  but  now  that  I've 
found  you,  I  do  not  merely  believe,  but 
know  that  you  are  a — " 

"  Confound  you  !  if  you  begin  your  infer 
nal  abuse  again,  Til  blow  your  brains  out ! 
I  haven't  got  your  talent  for  scolding.  If 
you  want  to  settle  accounts  with  me,  come 
along  like  a  man,  and  don't  stand  here 
jawing  like  a  fishwife." 

"  By  heavens !  that  will  I — and  here — " 

"  Here !  pooh  !    Come  along  to  my  room." 

"Lead  on— I'll  follow." 

At  this  Harry  led  the  way,  and  in  a 
short  time,  followed  by  Ashby,  he  once 
more  reached  his  own  room. 

And  so  it  had  come  to  this !  The  friends 
who  a  few  days  before  had  been  so  inti 
mate,  so  confiding,  and  so  affectionate,  now 
stood  face  to  face  as  foes,  glaring  at  one 
another  with  defiance  in  their  eyes  and  bit 
ter  hate  in  their  hearts.  Each  thought  he 
had  received  sufficient  provocation  to  seek 
the  life  of  the  other,  and  each  thought  that 
he  had  received  from  the  other  insults 
which  could  only  be  wiped  out  in  blood. 

Harry  felt  sure  that  Ashby  had  found  the 
package  which  he  had  concealed  so  care 
fully,  and  was  holding  it  on  the  ground  of 
his  engagement  to  Katie.  Such  a  right 
Harry  might  possibly  have  conceded  to  Rus 
sell,  as  Katie's  guardian,  especially  as  he 
had  been  the  one  who  last  had  held  it ;  but 
to  Ashby  he  never  would  surrender  it.  As 
for  Ashby,  his  bitterness  and  jealousy  have 
already  been  fully  set  forth,  and  they  were 
now  more  intense  than  ever. 


Harry  stuck  the  torch  in  a  hollow  stone 
in  the  floor  which  appeared  to  have  been 
made  for  that  purpose.  Then  he  turned  to 
Ashby. 

"Now,  sir,"  said  Ashby,  "you  have  al 
ready  heard." 

"  No  more,  I  beg,"  said  Harry ;  "  not  a 
word.  Let's  fight  like  gentlemen,  not  jaw 
like  bullies.  Have  you  a  pistol  ?" 

"  No." 

"  That's  unfortunate.  There's  no  know 
ing  at  what  time  a  pistol  may  be  needed." 

"  No,"  said  Ashby,  bitterly.  "  If  I  had 
known  that  you  would  prove  a  scoun — " 

"  By  heavens  !"  roared  Harry,  "  if  yon 
don't  shut  up  I'll  put  a  bullet  through  you  ! 
Do  you  hear?  Come  now,"  he  continued, 
growing  cooler ;  "  we've  both  said  enough, 
more  than  enough.  Remember  that  when 
two  gentlemen  meet  in  mortal  combat  the 
time  for  insult  is  over.  We  have  no  sec 
onds.  Let  us  try  to  imitate  the  punctilious 
ness  of  seconds  in  our  treatment  of  each 
other.  Do  you  consent  ?" 

Ashby  bowed. 

"And  now,  Mr.  Ashby,"  continued  Harry, 
"  as  you  say  you  have  no  pistol,  is  there 
anything  else  that  you  can  suggest  ?  Have 
you  a  knife  ?" 

"  Nothing  but  a  penknife." 

"  Ah,  that's  very  unfortunate.  If  we  could 
only  get  hold  of  a  couple  of  rifles  from  our 
friends  here  outside,  we  should  be  all  right, 
but  there's  no  use  in  hoping  for  that.  Our 
ransom  is  too  high  for  them  to  risk  losing 
it.  And  so,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  the  only 
thing  left  is  for  us  to  use  this  one  pistol  of 
mine." 

"  One  pistol  ?  How  can  both  of  us  use 
one  pistol  ?" 

"  We  must.  There's  nothing  else  to  be 
done." 

Ashby  shook  his  head. 

"  I  don't  see  how,"  said  he. 

"It's  plain  enough,"  said  Harry.  "We 
can  take  it  turn  about." 

"  But  the  man  who  fires  the  first  shot  has 
an  immense  advantage,"  said  Ashby. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Harry;  "that  does 
not  necessarily  follow.  He  may  hit  his  foe, 
of  course,  but  the  wound  may  only  be  a 
trifling  one  after  all;  or  he  may  miss  his 
shot  altogether.  It  often  happens  so  in 
duels.  Moreover,  as  you  very  well  know, 
in  a  duel  it  never  happens  that  both  fire  at 
the  same  instant.  One  always  fires  a  little 
before  the  other.  So  in  our  case  it  will 
simply  amount  to  this,  that  one  of  us  will 


110 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


fire  a  little  before  the  other.  In  that  case 
the  first  man  may  miss,  and  the  second  man 
will  then  come  in  for  his  turn." 

"  But  how  shall  we  decide  who  is  to  fire 
first  ?"  said  Ashby. 

"Oh,  that's  easy  enough,"  said  Harry; 
"  we  can  toss  up." 

"  Oh,  very  well." 

"  Have  you  a  coin  ?" 

"  Not  one." 

"  Nor  I — not  a  copper,  even.  The  beg 
garly  Carlists  have  drained  me  dry." 

"We  must  find  something  else,"  said 
Ashby. 

"Oh,  there  needn't  be  any  difficulty 
about  that.  A  button  will  do  quite  as 
well." 

And  with  this  Harry  cut  one  of  the  but 
tons  from  his  trousers. 

"  This  will  do,"  said  he.  "  The  face  of 
the  button  will  be  '  head,'  and  the  back  of 
it '  tail.'  And  now,  will  you  try  it  ?" 

He  handed  it  to  Ashby,  who  took  it 
without  a  word. 

"  If  it  falls  '  heads,'  the  first  fire  will  be 
yours  ;  if  '  tails,'  the  first  fire  will  be  mine." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Ashby ;  and  then,  pois 
ing  the  button  for  a  moment,  he  tossed  it. 

It  fell,  head  uppermost. 

"  Heads  !"  said  Harry.  "  Mr.  Ashby,  the 
first  fire  belongs  to  you.  Here's  the  pistol. 
It's  loaded.  I'll  take  my  position  here. 
Shall  I  measure  the  distance  ?" 

"  Pardon  me,  Mr.  Rivers,"  said  Ashby ; 
"  but  I  cannot  accept  this  from  one  throw. 
It  must  be  the  best  out  of  three  times." 

"  I  don't  see  why." 

"  I  should  not  accept  it  under  any  other 
conditions." 

"  Oh,  very  well.  Let  us  both  act  so  as 
to  satisfy  one  another,"  said  Harry.  "  In 
that  case  you  had  better  toss  again." 

Ashby  now  picked  up  the  button,  and 
tossed  a  second  time.  This  time  it  fell  face 
downward. 

"  Tails  !"  said  Harry.  "  Once  more,  and 
that  decides  it." 

Ashby  picked  up  the  button  and  gave  a 
final  toss.  The  button  fell.  This  time  it 
was  in  Ashby 's  favor.  It  fell  face  upward. 

"  Heads  !"  said  Harry.  "  It's  yours,  Mr. 
Ashby.  Will  you  take  the  pistol  ?" 

Ashby  hesitated. 

"  I  think,"  said  he,  "  we  had  better  ar 
range  our  places." 

"Very  well.  At  what  distance?"  said 
Harry.  "  Shall  we  say  twelve  paces  ?" 

"  I  should  think  so." 


Upon  this  Harry  began  by  the  fireplace, 
and  walked  for  twelve  paces  along  the 
floor.  Reaching  this  place,  he  stopped. 

"  Will  this  do  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"  Very  well ;  and  now  which  place  will 
you  take  ?" 

"Either." 

"  In  that  case  we  must  toss  up  again  for 
choice  of  positions.  But,  first  of  all,  it 
will  be  necessary  to  move  this  torch,  so 
that  it  shall  be  equally  favorable." 

Saying  this,  Harry  walked  over  to  the 
torch,  and  carried  it,  together  with  the 
stone,  to  a  place  which  seemed  about  mid 
way  between  the  two  positions.  Here  he 
set  it  on  the  ground. 

"  And  now,  Mr.  Ashby,"  said  Harry,  "  we 
must  toss  up  for  places." 

"Very  well,"  said  Ashby.;  "but  you  had 
better  toss  this  time,  as  I  did  it  last  time." 

To  this  Harry  made  no  objection.  He 
took  the  button,  and  tossed  it.  This  time 
luck  was  favorable,  and  he  won  the  choice 
of  positions. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I'm  quite  indifferent ; 
but,  as  I  have  the  choice,  I  suppose  I  may 
as  well  choose  the  place  out  there  in  the 
room.  In  that  case  you  will  stand  here  in 
front  of  the  fireplace." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Ashby,  who  thereupon 
took  up  his  place  there. 

"Have  you  any  plan  to  propose  as  to 
firing?" 

"  None  whatever." 

"  I've  been  thinking  of  one  which  I  will 
mention.  You  may  have  a  better  one.  The 
unarmed  one  shall  give  the  word,  or  drop 
a  handkerchief.  Will  that  do  ?  If  you  pre 
fer  for  the  one  who  fires  to  give  the  word 
— very  well.  Only  I  think  that  the  word 
had  better  be  given." 

"Certainly,"  said  Ashby,  "and  I  quite 
agree  to  your  proposal." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Harry ;  "  and  now,  Mr. 
Ashby,  here  is  the  pistol." 

Saying  this,  he  handed  the  weapon  to 
Ashby,  who  took  it  with  a  slight  bow,  but 
in  silence. 

Harry  now  measured  off  twelve  paces 
once  more,  and  reached  the  spot  which  lie 
had  before  marked  out,  upon  which  he 
turned  and,  standing  erect,  faced  Ashby. 

"  Mr.  Ashby,"  said  he,  "  are  you  ready  ? 
If  so,  take  aim,  and  I  will  give  the  word." 

Ashby  raised  the  pistol  and  took  aim. 
The  weapon  covered  Harry,  and  he  knew 
it.  He  knew  also  that  Ashby  was  a  "dead 


"WHOROO,  LADS!  THIS  BATES  THE  WORRULD,  so  IT  DOES." 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


Ill 


shot."  But  not  a  nerve  quivered.  He  stood 
up  there  as  straight  as  a  ramrod,  and  then, 
in  a  calm,  clear  voice,  with  his  usual  self- 
possession,  said : 

"  One  ;  two  ;  three.     Fire  !  " 

For  a  moment  Ashby  stood  with  his  pis 
tol  thus  covering  Harry. 

Then  his  arm  fell. 

"I  cannot,"  said  he — "I  cannot  fire,  in 
cold  blood,  on  an  unarmed  man." 

Now,  had  Ashby  stood  thus,  with  a  pis 
tol,  in  the  full  heat  of  his  first  fury,  he 
would  have  fired,  without  stopping  to 
think;  but  the  effect  of  their  enforced 
courtesy  to  one  another,  and  more  particu 
larly  of  the  somewhat  tedious  preliminaries, 
had  been  to  calm  and  even  chill  his  hot 
anger,  and  to  subdue  all  his  fierce  excite 
ment.  As  he  stood  there,  with  his  pistol 
levelled,  and  saw  Harry's  cool,  calm  face, 
it  seemed  like  butchery.  He  could  not 
fire.  And  so  his  hand  dropped  down  with 
this  exclamation. 

"  But  my  turn  is  to  come." 

"  Oh,  that's  nothing,"  said  Ashby.  "  You 
may  have  your  turn  now,  if  you  choose." 

"•  Oh  no,"  said  Harry,  "  I  can't  take  my 
turn  until  after  you  have  fired;  and  the 
worst  of  it  is,  I  don't  see  how  we  can 
settle  this  difficulty,  if  we  don't  do  it 
now." 

"  Other  chances  will,  no  doubt,  occur," 
said  Ashby. 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Harry,  "  that  is  hardly 
probable,  and,  besides,  that  will  not  help 
the  matter.  In  fact,  it  will  only  make  it 
worse.  For  you  see,  if  some  time  should 
elapse  before  such  a  meeting,  the  recollec 
tion  of  this  affair  would  be  so  faint  that  I 
could  not  go  into  it  with  any  spirit ;  where 
as  now  I  am  all  cocked  and  primed.  So 
fire  away,  my  dear  fellow,  for  I  really  don't 
want  to  have  an  affair  of  this  sort  hanging 
over  me  the  rest  of  my  life.  We  must  have 
it  out,  and  now's  the  time." 

"  Will  you  not  fire  first,  Mr.  Rivers  ?"  said 
Ashby,  earnestly. 

"  Oh  no,  that  would  make  all  our  prepa 
rations  childish,"  was  the  reply.  "  We  have 
appealed  to  Fortune,  and  her  decision  has 
been  given." 

Ashby  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  Mr.  Rivers,"  said  he,  "  I  cannot  shoot 
an  unarmed  man  in  cold  blood." 

u  But  what  can  we  do  ?"  said  Harry. 

"Why,  we  may  be  able  to  borrow  a 
couple  of  rifles,  or  even  one  rifle,  from  our 
friends  here." 

8 


Upon  this  a  voice  rang  out,  full  and 
clear,  in  the  room  : 

"  Begorra,  an'  that  same  they'll  do. 
Whoroo,  lads  !  this  bates  the  worruld,  so  it 
does.  It's  inesilf  that's  stud  by  the  dure 
for  the  last  tin  minutes,  an'  I've  seen  a 
soight  that  I  won't  forget  till  me  dyin'  day. 
It's  loike  the  toime  whin  the  Irish  exiles 
at  Fontenoy  marched  up  to  the  English 
gyards  an'  said, '  Gintlemen  av  the  English 
Gyards,  fire  first !'  Begorra,  it's  mesilf  that 
'ud  be  the  proud  man  to  lend  yez  the  loan 
av  a  couple  av  guns ;  but  don't  be  alarrum- 
ed,  darlints — afther  yez  pay  yer  ranshoni, 
ye'll  have  a  chance." 

At  the  first  sound  of  that  voice  Harry 
and  Ashby  started  in  amazement.  So  in 
tent  had  they  been  on  their  own  business 
that  they  had  heard  nothing  ;  and  Ashby, 
though  facing  the  door,  had  been  so  intent 
on  Harry  that  he  had  not  noticed  that  it 
had  been  half  opened.  Now  they  saw  the 
Carlist  chief  come  in,  followed  by  half  a 
dozen  of  his  men.  Most  amazing  of  all  was 
the  discovery  that  he  spoke  English  with 
an  Irish  brogue.  Katie  had  already  men 
tioned  this  to  Harry,  but  he  had  not  thought 
much  about  it.  Now,  face  to  face  with 
"  His  Majesty,"  they  were  able  to  look  at 
him  with  other  feelings.  Had  he  entered 
under  other  circumstances,  he  would  have 
talked  Spanish  ;  but  so  excited  was  he  that 
he  burst  forth  in  the  manner  above  de 
tailed. 

"  For  ye  see,"  said  "  His  Majesty  " — 

"  'Mesilf  does  admire  the  best, 

Av  all  that's  nnclher  the  sun, 
To  stand  faciii'  the  friend  av  me  sowl, 

Wid  hlunderbns,  pistol,  or  gun. 
The  word  av  command  it  is  given, 

The  weapon  we  both  av  us  raises, 
Afther  which — sure  the  one  laves  for  home, 

An.'  off  goes  the  other  to  blazes  !'  " 


CHAPTER  XXXIV, 

HOW   THE    VIRTUOUS    RUSSELL    FINDS    A    FRIEND    IN 
NEED. 

IT  is  necessary  here  to  go  back  for  a 
brief  interval  in  order  to  take  up  the  for 
tunes  of  one  who  some  time  ago  disap 
peared  from  these  pages. 

The  virtuous  Russell  was  alone.  He  had 
passed  a  night  which,  considering  his  situ 
ation,  had  not  been  altogether  uncomfort 
able.  He  had  slept  a  refreshing  sleep,  and 
in  the  land  of  dreams  had  been  able  to  for 
get  the  ills  of  life.  Morning  came,  howev- 


112 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


er,  and  with  his  waking  thoughts  there  re 
turned  the  recollection  of  the  past,  and  the 
full  consciousness  of  his  present  position. 
He  was  a  captive  in  a  prison  from  which 
he  could  not  hope  to  escape ;  at  the  mercy 
of  a  powerful  and  cunning  enemy,  who 
knew  his  secret,  and  would  use  every  effort 
to  get  his  money.  If  he  refrained  for  the 
present  from  exerting  violence,  it  was  only 
too  probable  that  this  forbearance  was  but 
temporary,  and  that  at  the  last  the  prisoner 
must  yield.  These  were  gloomy  thoughts, 
and  the  good  Russell  was  well-nigh  over 
whelmed. 

But  the  greatest  calamities  are  often  alle 
viated  by  comparative  trifles ;  and  so  it  was 
a  trifle  which,  on  this  occasion,  served  to 
soothe  the  sorrows  of  our  suffering  friend 
— such  a  trifle,  in  fact,  as  a  mere  costume. 
Whether  it  was  that,  being  a  tailor,  he  was 
more  affected  than  others  by  his  raiment ; 
or  whether  it  was  that  a  man's  dress  has, 
as  is  claimed,  a  potent  influence  which  al 
ways  affects  the  wearer,  need  not  be  dis 
cussed;  certain  it  is  that  just  now  it  was 
his  novel  attire  which  chiefly  engaged  the 
thoughts  of  Russell,  and  made  him  less 
sensible  of  his  misfortunes. 

As  a  dress  it  was  certainly  magnificent. 
The  cloth  was  of  the  finest  quality.  Gold 
was  lavished  freely  upon  it — gleaming  in 
the  numerous  buttons ;  shining  in  the  pro 
fuse  lace  which  glittered  over  the  breast 
and  round  the  cuffs  and  round  the  collar  in 
a  flood  of  glory;  sparkling  in  the  hat 
band;  flowing  down  the  skirts  like  the  oil 
from  Aaron's  beard.  Many  a  time  had  his 
own  fancy  designed  and  his  own  hands 
fashioned  such  an  array  as  this  for  others ; 
but  now,  as  it  infolded  his  own  ample  per 
son,  it  shone  with  new  lustre,  and  threw 
something  of  its  own  lustre  around  the 
wearer. 

And  now,  as  the  actor,  when  arrayed  in 
the  robes  of  majesty,  assumes  a  kingly  port 
and  struts  about  the  stage,  so  our  Russell. 
He  took  to  himself  the  part  which  the  uni 
form  suggested.  He  felt  like  the  general 
of  an  army.  He  threw  out  his  chest,  stood 
erect,  strutted,  admired  his  figure  and  his 
gait,  waved  in  Jiis  hand  an  imaginary 
sword,  and  guided  invisible  armies  to  the 
field  of  battle. 

In  the  midst  of  all  tins  he  was  suddenly 
roused  by  a  slight  noise  behind  him.  Turn 
ing  hastily,  he  saw  a  woman,  who  had  en 
tered  bearing  some  articles  of  food  for  his 
morning's  repast.  In  a  moment  Russell 


descended  from  the  lofty  heights  of  imag 
ination  to  the  dull  realities  of  a  cold  world, 
and,  in  plain  language,  began  to  feel  rath 
er  sheepish  at  being  discovered  in  such  a 
frame  of  mind.  Nay,  this  very  frame  of 
mind,  this  new  sense  of  personal  dignity  as 
general,  made  his  chagrin  all  the  greater. 

The  woman  was  attired  in  a  picturesque 
costume,  such  as  is  worn  by  the  lower  or 
ders  in  the  North  of  Spain,  with  the  addi 
tion,  however,  of  a  bright-colored  turban. 
Her  face  was  decidedly  handsome,  though 
rather  too  sharp  in  outline  and  expression, 
while  at  the  same  time  decidedly  the  worse 
for  wear.  A  pair  of  fine  bold  black  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  Russell  with  an  expression  of 
undisguised  admiration  as  she  stood  look 
ing  at  him.  The  moment  he  turned  she 
looked  down,  and  then,  dropping  a  courte 
sy,  said : 

"  Breakfast,  seiior." 

Upon  this  she  deposited  her  tray  upon 
a  heavy  oak  table,  and  then  stood  looking 
at  him  with  the  same  expression  as  before. 
There  was  something  in  all  this  which  v:as 
flattering  to  the  vanity  of  Russell ;  and  he 
stood  regarding  the  woman  with  very 
much  complaisance.  And  as  he  looked  at 
her,  he  thought  to  himself  that  she  was  a 
very  pretty  woman. 

The  woman  then  said,  still  looking  at 
him : 

"  Beaut'ful !     Oh,  lovela  !" 

She  spoke  in  broken  English ;  and  Rus 
sell,  while  flattered  by  her  admiration,  was 
delighted  at  hearing  his  own  language. 

"Do  you  speak  English,  my  dear?"  he 
said,  in  a  tone  of  affectionate  familiarity, 
drawing  nearer  to  her. 

"  Oh  yes — me  speck  Inglees — me  in  Cuba 
— learn  speck  Inglees — vara  mooch." 

"  Oh  !  so  you've  been  in  Cuba,  have  you, 
my  dear  ?  Well,  Cuba's  a  very  pretty 
country,  and  you're  a  very  pretty  wom 
an." 

The  woman  smiled,  showing  rows  of 
splendid  teeth. 

"  Sefior  rnus'  be  a  gran'  nobile — a  gene- 
rale." 

Russell  smiled  a  lofty  smile,  and  laid  his 
hand  patronizingly,  yet  tenderly,  upon  the 
woman's  shoulder. 

"  You  are  a  very  sensible  woman,"  said 
he,  uand  as  pretty  as  you  are  sensible. 
What  is  your  name  ?" 

"  Rita,"  said  the  woman. 

"  Well,  Rita,  I  dare  say  you  and  I  shall 
be  great  friends." 


A  CASTLE  IN   SPAIN. 


113 


"  Friends  !  oh,  senor  is  too  much  magnif- 
ico— " 

"Oh,  I  ain't  proud,  my  dear— not  a  bit, 
not  a  mite.  I've  got  plenty  of  money,  Rita, 
and  can  help  my  friends  ;  but  I  ain't  proud, 
not  me.  And  what  may  be  your  particular 
duties  in  this  establishment  ?" 

"  Senor  ?" 

"  I  say,  what  do  you  do  here  ?  Are  you 
house-keeper  ?" 

"  Senor,  I  am  maid— to  the  lady  prison 
ers — an'  other  things — to  servar  and  at- 
tendar." 

"  Prisoners,  eh  ?  Do  they  have  many  of 
them  here  ?" 

"  Oh  —  sometime,"  said  Rita,  with  a 
laugh  ;  "  ladies  and  gen'l'ms." 

Russell  looked  at  her  with  a  benignant 
smile. 

"  Well,  Rita,  all  that  I  can  say  is,  it's  a 
pity  that  such  a  pretty  woman  as  you  can 
not  have  some  better  fortune  than  this." 

Rita  laughed. 

"  Ah,  senor,  you  a  flattera  !" 

"  Oh  no.  I'm  a  plain,  blunt,  bluff,  hon 
est  John  Bull.  But  the  fact  is,  you  are 
very  pretty,  Rita,  my  dear !" 

Rita  laughed  again  at  this,  and  her  large 
black  eyes  fixed  themselves  with  bolder 
admiration  upon  the  benignant  face  and 
splendid  dress  of  the  gallant  tailor. 

Here  a  happy  thought  occurred  to  Rus 
sell's  mind. 

It  was  evident  that  this  woman  was  al 
ready  an  admiring  friend.  Could  he  not, 
in  some  way,  work  upon  her  so  as  to  at 
tract  her  to  his  interests  ?  Her  help  would 
be  invaluable.  She  might,  if  she  chose,  do 
much;  she  might  even  help  him  to  escape. 
It  was  worth  trying.  To  win  her  over  to 
his  side,  there  was  nothing  which  he  would 
not  try.  But  how  could  he  get  her  help  ? 
By  bribery?  Of  course,  to  a  certain  ex 
tent  ;  but  it  would  be  well  to  be  cautious, 
and  not  offer  too  much.  Other  means 
might  be  used.  By  gaining  her  good-will, 
she  would  be  more  accessible  to  a  bribe, 
and  would  be  less  exacting. 

Now,  Russell  was  sharp  at  a  bargain,  and 
by  no  means  anxious  to  pay  more  than  he 
could  help.  Even  where  his  own  liber 
ty,  even  where  his  life  was  concerned,  he 
paused  to  consider  the  expense.  He  re 
solved  to  bribe  this  woman,  but  to  name  no 
price,  to  let  it  be  undecided,  to  agree  in 
a  general  way;  and  afterward,  should  he 
succeed  in  gaining  his  liberty,  to  cut  the 
amount  down  as  low  as  possible.  He  also 


resolved  to  put  money  out  of  the  question 
as  far  as  he  could,  and  work  upon  her 
good-will  and  her  affections,  rather  than 
her  avarice.  The  woman's  open,  undis 
guised  admiration  seemed  to  promise  an 
easy  conquest.  To  him  she  appeared  to 
have  a  frank,  guileless,  impetuous  disposi 
tion,  all  of  which  was  a  great  help  to  the 
furtherance  of  his  designs. 

Russell  looked  all  around. 

"  Oh,"  said  Rita,  "  do  not  fear— all  away." 

"  Come,  my  dear,"  said  Russell ;  "  sit  down 
here  by  my  side ;  I  want  to  talk  with  you." 

Russell  seated  himself  on  an  oaken  bench, 
and  Rita  promptly  seated  herself  by  his 
side.  She  sat  by  him,  and  looked  at  him 
with  a  smile,  and  with  the  same  fervid  ad 
miration. 

"  The  pretty  child  !"  thought  Russell,  as 
he  caught  the  glance  of  her  glowing  eyes. 
"  How  she  does  admire  me  !" 

"  So  you  are  an  attendant  here,  are  you, 
Rita,  my  dear  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"But  it  isn't  good  enough  for  such  a 
pretty  woman  as  you  are !"  he  continued. 

"Ah,  senor,  what  do  you  mean?"  said 
Rita.  "  What  can  I  do  better  ?" 

"  But  you  ought  to  be  something  better 
—far  better.  Would  you  not  like  to—" 

"  Like  what  ?"  asked  Rita,  who  was  full 
of  excitement. 

"Well,"  said  Russell,  "to  have  plenty  of 
money,  to  have  beautiful  clothes,  to  live  in 
a  beautiful  house,  to  have  jewels,  to  have 
amusements,  and  so  forth  ?" 

Rita's  dark  eyes  flashed  fire  with  eager 
covetousness  at  this  alluring  speech. 

"  Oh,  senor,"  she  said,  "  it  is  impossible." 

"  Rita !"  said  Russell,  in  a  solemn  voice. 

"  Senor !" 

"  Look  at  me." 

"  Si,  senor." 

Rita  had  been  looking  at  him  all  along 
fixedly  enough,  but  at  this  invitation  she 
threw  additional  earnestness  into  the  deep 
glance  of  her  bold,  dark  eyes. 

"  You  see  what  I  am,  Rita,  my  dear.  I 
am  a  prisoner — in  grief,  in  despair.  Now, 
if  any  one  would  help  me,  I  could  do  very 
much  for  that  one." 

"  You  are  a  gran'  nobile  ?"  said  Rita,  in 
an  inquiring  tone. 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Russell,  in  his  large  way ; 
"  and,  what's  more,  I  can  make  you  happy 
for  the  rest  of  your  life.  I  like  you,  Rita. 
I'm  quite  fond  of  you.  You're  an  uncom 
monly  pretty  woman." 


114 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


Saying  tins,  Russell  took  Rita's  hand  and 
pressed  it  with  much  emphasis.  Now,  the 
interpretation  which  Rita  put  upon  these 
words  and  this  action  was  very  different 
from  what  Russell  intended.  The  benig 
nant  Russell  merely  wished  to  impress  upon 
Rita's  mind  that  he  had  very  friendly  feel 
ings  toward  her,  and  that,  if  she  would 
help  him,  he  was  in  a  position  to  reward 
her  handsomely.  He  didn't  want  to  name 
any  sum.  He  wished,  for  obvious  reasons, 
to  leave  the  amount  unsettled.  But  Rita 
understood  it  differently.  Being  of  a  sen 
timental  turn,  she  regarded  this  as  a  sort 
of  declaration  of  love — in  fact,  almost  an 
offer  of  marriage — and,  if  not  so  altogether, 
at  least  an  approach  to  it.  Still,  she  was 
a  shrewd  woman,  and  waited  until  Russell 
had  explained  himself  further. 

Russell  observed  her  silence,  and  was 
quite  satisfied.  It  showed  proper  caution, 
and  caution  was  an  excellent  quality  in  one 
whom  he  wished  to  have  for  a  helper  in  his 
need.  So  he  went  on  in  the  same  way,  still 
holding  Rita's  hand. 

"You  are  so  pretty,  Rita,  my  dear,  I 
swear  I  never  before  saw  such  a  pretty 
woman.  This  isn't  the  place  for  you.  You 
must  get  out  of  this;  and  if  you  will  only 
go  away  with  me,  why,  there's  nothing  that 
I  wouldn't  do  for  you.  When  I  like  a  per 
son,  I'm  ready  to  do  anything  for  them. 
And  the  first  moment  I  saw  you,  I  said  to 
myself,  '  There's  the  woman  for  you  !'  " 

"  Am  I  really  the  woman  for  you  ?"  asked 
Rita,  full  of  excited  hopes,  and  still  con 
tinuing  to  misinterpret  his  words. 

"The  very  one!"  said  Russell.  "The 
one  of  all  others !  Heaven  has  sent  you  to 
me.  Rita,  my  dear,  do  what  I  ask !" 

Rita  was  deeply  moved.  This  brilliant, 
wealthy  stranger  seemed  to  love  her.  He 
wanted  her  to  fly  with  him.  But.  oh,  if  he 
should  prove  false !" 

"Ah,  senor,  you  not  earnest — you  not 
true !"  said  Rita,  clasping  his  hand  in  both 
of  hers. 

"True!  earnest!"  cried  Russell.  "I 
swear,  Rita,  my  dear,  I  will  be  true  to  what 
I  say — always,  always  !  Can't  you  trust  me, 
Rita,  my  dear?" 

"  Oh,  seiior,"  sighed  Rita,  deeply  moved, 
"you  persuade  me  too  easy.  And  think 
on  the  danger — the  life  is  risk — the  death 
will  come  if  we  are  captura." 

"  Rita,  my  clear,"  said  Russell,  "  let  us 
not  talk  of  danger.  Let  us  fly  together.  I 
will  always  remember  your  devotion.  I 


will  never  forget  you  as  long  as  life  lasts. 
I  am  noted  for  my  truth  and  fidelity.  I've 
got  a  warm  and  throbbing  heart.  And 
now,  Rita,  my  dear,  if  you  want  one  who 
will  always  be  yours  truly — if  you  want 
one  who  will  love  you  and  care  for  you — 
why,  I'm  your  man  !" 

Upon  these  words  Rita  put,  as  usual,  her 
own  interpretation.  The  last  words  espe 
cially — "  I'm  your  man  " — seemed  to  her 
to  be  the  most  direct  offer  yet. 

"  My  man  ?"  she  said — "  and  will  you  be 
my  man,  senor  ?" 

"  Of  course — of  course,"  said  Russell,  not 
comprehending  her  drift. 

Upon  this  Rita  flung  her  arms  around 
the  neck  of  the  astonished  Russell. 

"  Oh,  senor — then — I  helpa  you.  I  yours 
— I  do  all.  We  fly — you  be  true— to  your 
Rita." 

Russell  was  so  astonished  that  for  some 
time  he  said  nothing;  but  feeling  how  im 
portant  it  was  to  retain  her  friendship,  he 
did  not  dare  to  disabuse  her  of  her  false 
idea ;  nay,  he  even  felt  that  it  would  be 
better  for  her  to  entertain  it  since  she  had 
it.  So  he  put  his  arm  around  her  and  kiss 
ed  her. 

Suddenly  Rita  started  up. 

"  I  mus'  go,"  she  said.     "  I  will  soon  re- 

i  turn." 

And  with  these  words  she  hurriedly  re 
treated,  leaving  Russell  to  his  breakfast 
and  his  meditations. 

Russell  had  been  very  successful  in  his 
attempt  to  win  over  Rita  to  his  interests ; 
in  fact,  too  successful.  His  success  caused 
him  at  first  not  a  little  perplexity.  Rita, 
he  perceived,  had  misunderstood  him ;  but 
then,  in  making  friendly  advances  to  a 
woman  who  was  not  very  well  up  in  the 

|  English  language,  it  was  next  to  impossi- 

|  ble  to  preserve  those  nice  and  delicate 
shades  of  meaning  which  he  had  intended. 

|  Upon    the  whole,   however,    after   mature 

j  consideration,  he  concluded  that  it  had  all 

I  turned  out  for  the  best. 

It  was  evident  that  this  woman  had 
formed  a  very  strong  attachment  for  him. 
Very  well.  She  would  be  all  the  more  de 
voted  to  his  interests,  and  turn  all  her 
thoughts  and  energies  toward  securing  his 
escape.  Things  could  not  have  turned  out 
better.  He  had  not  intended  it,  but  if  Rita 
chose  to  misunderstand  him,  why  should 
he  try  to  undeceive  her?  The  more  she 
cared  for  him,  the  better  it  would  be  for 

i  him.     And  thus  Russell,   out  of  his  self- 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


115 


ish  desires  for  his  own  safety,  allowed  him 
self  to  trifle  with  the  heart's  best  affections, 
and  beguile  poor  Rita,  and  allure  her  with 
hopes  that  could  never  be  realized. 

After  all,  however,  there  were  grave  ob 
stacles  in  his  way.  Could  he  desert  his 
wife  and  leave  her  in  such  peril  ?  Or, 
worse,  could  he  leave  those  precious  bonds, 
which  he  had  so  carefully  hidden  ?  If  he 
did,  he  might  never  see  them  again. 

Was  it  possible  to  get  them  before  leav 
ing  ?  Would  it  be  safe  to  tell  Rita,  and 
direct  her  to  get  them  for  him  ?  This 
thought  occupied  him  for  some  time,  and 
he  almost  made  up  his  mind  to  do  so.  But 
the  risk  was  too  great.  After  all,  Rita 
might  be  a  spy  in  the  interests  of  "  His 
Majesty,"  and  sent  to  worm  his  secret  out 
of  him.  No,  it  would  not  be  safe.  It  would 
be  safer  to  leave  the  bonds  where  they 
were.  If  he  escaped,  he  might  hope  to  ob 
tain  assistance  from  the  Government,  in 
which  case  he  might  be  able  to  come  back 
with  them,  to  show  them  the  way,  and 
then,  when  the  castle  was  recaptured,  he 
might  be  able  to  regain  his  treasure.  And 
so  he  decided  finally  upon  this  course. 

At  midday  Rita  returned,  bringing  his 
dinner,  a  savory  olla  podrida.  She  set  it 
down,  and  then  threw  her  arms  around  the 
embarrassed  Russell,  who  was  seated  on  the 
bench,  murmuring  words  of  endearment  in 
unintelligible  Spanish.  He  bore  it  well, 
however,  and,  remembering  his  necessities, 
he  tried  to  exhibit  those  feelings  which 
might  be  expected  from  him. 

Rita  this  time  had  a  bundle  with  her, 
which  she  gave  to  Russell,  directing  him  to 
hide  it  under  the  bench  for  the  present. 

u  You  mus'  disguisar,"  she  said ;  "  this 
is  a  woman  dress — " 

"A  woman's  dress  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  difficolta.  You  wait  till  avenin', 
then  you  put  him  on,  ofer  your  militar  coat 
— just  as  you  stands.  Alia  right ;  then  you 
disguisado,  and  commalong  me.  I  be  alia 
ready.  You  waita  forra  mi.  But  not  you 
put  him  on  till  avenin1,  or  mighta  be  dis- 
covaire,  you  know.  Ha,  senor  ?" 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

IN    WHICH    TWO    FUGITIVES  HAVE    A    STARTLING    AD 
VENTURE,   NOT  WITHOUT  PERIL. 

EVENING  came,  and  Russell,  with  Rita's 
assistance,  put  on  the  woman's  dress  over 
his  general's  uniform.  The  skill  of  Rita 


was  exerted  to  give  her  companion  the  ap 
pearance  of  a  female  somewhat  stricken  in 
years,  and  her  success  was  marked.  Per 
haps  it  was  this  very  success  that  affected 
the  soul  of  Russell ;  for  no  sooner  did  he 
look  like  an  old  woman  than  he  began  to 
feel  and  act  like  one.  Away  went  all  his 
courage,  and  he  would  have  drawn  back 
after  all,  had  not  Rita  urged  and  almost 
forced  him  away. 

"  Allarighta,"  she  said.  "The  men  all 
gone  insidar,  and  so  ongry  they  think  of 
ony  the  eaters.  So  come,  my  dear.  No 
one  shall  see.  You  be  trust  to  myselfa — 
an'  we  go  like  snake  in  the  grasses." 

Russell  thus  allowed  himself  to  be  hur 
ried  away  by  his  bolder  companion  on  the 
path  that  led  to  liberty.  Rita  led  the  way 
out  into  the  upper  hall,  and  Russell  fol 
lowed,  not  without  great  trepidation,  and 
bitter  regret  at  his  rashness,  expecting  at 
every  step  to  see  "His  Majesty,"  and  of 
course  to  be  arrested  and  flung  into  some 
deep,  dark  dungeon.  One  or  two  men 
were  there,  who,  however,  took  no  notice 
of  them. 

After  this  they  descended  the  stairs  and 
entered  the  lower  hall.  Here,  to  the  im 
mense  dismay  of  Russell,  he  beheld  what 
seemed  to  be  the  entire  Carlist  band.  It 
was  their  feeding-time.  A  huge  pot  was 
in  the  middle  of  the  hall,  and  these  men 
were  dipping  out  of  it  their  respective  por 
tions  of  some  savory  mess  whose  odor  filled 
the  air.  Russell  shrunk  down  almost  into 
his  boots  at  the  first  sight;  but  as  Rita 
walked  along,  he  had  no  alternative  except 
to  follow  her.  Little  clanger  was  there, 
however,  of  his  being  observed.  All  the 
men  were  too  intent  upon  their  evening 
meal  to  notice  what  seemed  like  two  very 
commonplace  women  who  probably  be 
longed  to  the  castle.  And  thus  Russell,  to 
his  unspeakable  relief,  passed  through  this 
ordeal  unquestioned  and  even  unnoticed. 

Having  passed  through  the  lower  hall, 
they  emerged  into  the  outer  court-yard. 
Here,  as  he  passed  through  the  door,  Rus 
sell  was  just  drawing  a  long  breath,  and 
thinking  within  himself  that  the  worst  was 
over,  when  suddenly,  without  any  warning, 
there  approached  them  no  less  a  personage 
than  "His  Majesty"  himself— the  very  last 
man,  as  it  is  needless  to  say,  whom  Russell 
would  have  chosen  to  meet.  At  that  sight 
the  soul  of  Russell,  which  had  been  slowly 
struggling  upward,  once  more  sank  down 
!  into  his  boots,  carrying  down  with  it  all 


116 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


hope,  and  all  desire,  and  almost  all  con 
sciousness. 

There  was  not  the  slightest  chance  of 
avoiding  him.  He  was  coming  straight 
toward  them.  What  was  worse,  his  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  them. 

"Ah,  Rita,"  said  "  His  Majesty"  in  Span 
ish,  "  where  are  you  going  in  the  dark  ?" 

Rita  paused  and  made  a  low  obeisance. 
Russell  did  the  same. 

"  I'm  going  over  there  to  see  about  some 
washing,"  said  Rita. 

"Ah  ha!"  said  "His  Majesty,"  "  if  you 
only  were  going  alone  I  should  say  that 
some  brave  boy  was  intending  to  help  you 
at  your  washing.  But  you  have  a  friend 
with  you." 

Saying  these  words,  "  His  Majesty"  look 
ed  hard  at  the  shrinking  Russell,  who  now 
felt  his  soul  all  oozing  out  at  the  seams  of 
his  boots.  He  stood  trembling,  shrinking, 
expecting  the  worst. 

But  Rita  was  equal  to  the  occasion. 

"  Oh,  this  is  my  aunt,"  said  she,  "  that  I 
told  you  about.  I  asked  her  to  come  here 
and  help  me.  She's  a  little  rheumatic,  be 
ing  old,  but  she  can  do  a  good  turn  at  hard 
work  yet ;  and  she's  a  good  cook,  too,  and 
she  can  spin  well — oh,  beautifully ;  and  she 
is  a  wonder  in  her  way.  Oh,  we  shall  have 
a  better  olio,  podrida  than  you  ever  tasted 
when  the  good  old  aunt  goes  to  work." 

"  Your  aunt — ah  !"  said  "  His  Majesty," 
in  a  tone  that  savored  of  disappointment. 
"  H'ni — well,  Rita,  the  next  time  you  want 
help  don't  send  for  any  of  your  aunts,  but 
send  for  some  one  of  your  nieces.  They  will 
be  far  more  welcome  in  a  lonely  place  like 
this.  Olla  podridas  are  all  very  well,  no 
doubt,  but  what  I  should  prefer  would  be 
some  one  who  could  touch  the  guitar,  and 
sing  a  lively  song." 

And  with  these  words  "His  Majesty" 
retired. 

"Come,"  said  Rita  to  the  almost  sense 
less  Russell.  "  Come." 

Again  Russell  followed  her.  She  led  the 
way  toward  an  archway  in  the  wall  on  one 
side  of  the  court-yard.  Entering  this,  they 
found  themselves  in  an  arched  room,  in 
which  it  was  difficult  to  see  through  the 
dim  twilight.  But  to  Rita  the  way  seemed 
quite  familiar,  for  she  walked  on  and  told 
Russell  to  follow  without  fear.  At  length 
she  stopped,  and  as  Russell  came  up  to  her, 
she  said : 

"  We  descenda — steps  does  be  here — I 
takes  your  hand  and  helps." 


She  took  his  hand,  and  began  to  de 
scend.  With  this  assistance  Russell  was 
able  to  follow  without  much  difficulty. 
Soon  it  became  quite  dark,  and  continued 
so  for  some  time,  during  which  Rita  led 
him  onward  as  quickly  as  possible.  At 
length  she  paused. 

"  You  inus'  be  careful,"  she  said  ;  "  here 
is  the  steps  brokes,  an'  you  shall  go  slow — 
and  not  slips." 

It  was  so  dark  here  that  Russell  could 
see  nothing ;  but  he  felt  that  Rita  was  de 
scending,  so  he  prepared  to  follow.  The 
steps  here  had  been  broken  in  places,  leav 
ing  a  rough,  inclined  plane,  with  loose  stones 
and  mortar.  There  was  no  great  difficulty 
in  descending,  but  it  was  dark,  and  Rus 
sell's  long  skirts  were  very  much  in  the 
way.  However,  by  moving  slowly,  and  by 
exercising  great  caution,  he  was  able  to 
reach  the  bottom  without  any  accident. 

Here  Rita  took  his  hand  and  again  led 
him  on.  It  now  began  to  grow  lighter, 
until  at  last  objects  were  plainly  discern 
ible.  The  light  was  caused  by  the  moon 
beams,  which  shone  in  through  a  place 
where  the  outside  wall  was  broken  away. 
Looking  through  the  opening,  Russell  saw, 
not  far  distant,  a  precipice,  with  bits  of 
shrubbery  here  and  there.  Soon  they  came 
to  the  opening  itself. 

He  found  himself  on  the  verge  of  a  deep 
chasm,  the  very  one  already  mentioned. 
Above  the  opening  projected  part  of  what 
had  once  been  a  bridge,  but  which  had 
long  since  fallen.  On  the  opposite  side  was 
the  tower  where  Brooke  and  Talbot  had 
found  refuge.  The  bridge  had  once  crossed 
to  the  tower,  and,  since  it  had  fallen,  this 
opening  had  been  made,  from  which  the 
chasm  could  be  crossed  by  descending  on 
one  side  and  ascending  the  other.  The 
slope  was  steep  and  rough.  Russell,  as  he 
looked  down,  could  not  see  any  chance  of 
farther  progress  in  this  direction. 

"  We  mus'  go  down  here,"  said  Rita. 

"  Here  ?"  said  Russell.  "  How  ?  I  can't 
go  down !" 

"  Oh,  it  is  easy ;  you  mus'  follow.  I  show 
the  ways,"  said  Rita;  and,  saying  this,  she 
stepped  down  from  the  opening  upon  a 
ledge  of  rock.  Then  turning  to  the  right, 
she  went  on  for  a  pace  or  two  and  turned 
for  Russell.  Seeing  her  walk  thus  far  with 
ease  and  in  safety,  he  ventured  after  her. 
The  ledge  was  wide  enough  to  walk  on 
without  difficulty ;  and,  although  the  chasm 
was  deep,  yet  the  side  did  not  run  down 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


117 


steeply  enough  to  make  him  feel  anything 
like  giddiness.  The  pathway  was  easy 
enough  when  one  had  a  guide  to  show  the 
way;  and  thus  Russell,  following  closely 
behind  Rita,  reached  the  bottom.  Then, 
crossing  the  brook,  she  led  the  way  up  on 
the  opposite  side  by  the  path  already  men 
tioned,  and  at  length  both  reached  the 
tower,  and  paused  to  take  breath. 

Thus  far  no  alarm  had  been  given  in  the 
castle.  Every  step  increased  Russell's  con 
fidence,  and  when  he  gained  the  tower  he 
felt  sure  of  escape.  But  to  wait  here  long- 
was  not  to  be  thought  of;  so,  after  a  few 
moments  spent  in  regaining  breath,  the 
two  set  forth  to  continue  their  flight. 

At  length,  after  a  fatiguing  journey,  they 
reached  the  main  road,  and  here  they 
turned  toward  the  south,  in  which  direc 
tion  they  went  for  some  miles. 

They  had  now  been  walking  for  many 
hours,  and  Russell,  -who  was  quite  unused 
to  any  exercise  of  this  sort,  was  greatly 
fatigued.  Nothing,  indeed,  but  the  dread 
of  capture  and  the  thought  of  a  merciless 
pursuer  on  his  track  had  kept  him  up  so 
long.  He  felt  that  lie  had  reached  the  ut 
most  limit  of  his  strength. 

At  last  they  caught  sight  of  a  windmill 
in  a  field  on  the  right.  The  sight  enlivened 
him.  Here,  he  thought,  they  might  hide 
and  obtain  rest.  He  said  this  to  Rita.  She 
acquiesced.  To  gain  the  windmill  was  now 
their  chief  desire. 

Nearer  they  came,  and  nearer. 

But  now,  just  when  all  seemed  gained, 
they  saw  a  number  of  armed  men  coming 
toward  them,  and  in  a  few  minutes  they 
were  arrested  by  the  followers  of  Lopez. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

HOW    DANGERS    THICKEN    AROUND    THE    DESPAIRING 
RUSSELL. 

THE  moon  was  still  shining  very  bright 
ly,  and  they  could  see  very  well  the  faces 
and  the  uniforms  of  their  captors.  The 
sight  of  the  government  uniforms  was  very 
reassuring  to  Rita,  who  was  only  anxious 
to  escape  from  the  Carlists ;  but  the  first 
glance  which  Russell  gave  at  the  captain 
of  the  band  overwhelmed  him  with  terror. 
He  recognized  Lopez,  and  saw  that  he  had 
fallen  into  the  hands  of  one  who  had  no 
reason,  and  perhaps  no  inclination,  to  show 
him  the  slightest  mercy.  At  that  sight  all 


Russell's  courage  subsided,  and  he  fell  into 
a  state  of  mental  prostration  as  extreme  as 
that  which  he  had  experienced  when  "  His 
Majesty  "  had  confronted  him  in  his  flight. 

For,  unfortunately  for  him,  Lopez  had 
received  at  his  hands  treatment  which  was 
sufficient  to  inspire  a  deep  resentment  even 
in  a  man  less  impetuous  than  this  hot- 
blooded  Spaniard.  First,  he  had  not  only 
discouraged  his  attentions  to  Katie,  but 
had  prohibited  them  in  every  possible  way, 
and  in  the  most  positive  and  insulting  man 
ner.  Again,  but  a  short  time  before  this, 
at  the  railway  station  at  Madrid,  he  had 
caused  him  to  be  ejected  from  the  railway- 
carriage.  For  all  this  he  felt  that  Lopez 
must  cherish  a  deep  desire  for  vengeance, 
and  would  rejoice  now  if  he  were  to  dis 
cover  that  his  enemy  had  become  his  pris 
oner.  In  sucli  an  emergency  as  this,  Rus 
sell  was  utterly  helpless,  and  could  only 
hope  that  his  disguise  might  baffle  Lopez, 
or  that  the  quick  wit  of  Rita  might  be  able 
to  save  him  from  discovery. 

After  regarding  them  for  a  sufficient  time, 
Lopez  began  an  examination  of  the  prison 
ers. 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  he  asked. 

Rita  answered. 

"  I  am  a  poor  woman,"  said  she,  "  and 
this  lady  is  a  foreigner  who  does  not  un 
derstand  Spanish." 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  alone  on  this 
road  ?" 

"  We  are  fugitives." 

"  Fugitives  from  whom  ?" 

"  From  the  Carlists." 

At  this  Lopez  was  visibly  excited. 

"  The  Carlists?"  he  asked.  "  Where  are 
they  ?  Where  did  you  leave  them  ?  Tell 
the  truth,  woman,  and  you  shall  be  reward 
ed.  But  if  you  are  false,  I  shall  regard  you 
both  as  spies." 

"  Noble  captain,  I  am  anxious  to  tell  the 
truth,  and  glad  that  we  have  fallen  among 
friends.  We  have  escaped  from  an  old  cas 
tle  some  distance  away,  and  have  been  fly 
ing  for  hours — " 

"  A  castle  !"  said  Lopez,  interrupting  her ; 
"where  is  it  ?" 

"  There,  to  the  north,"  said  Rita. 

"  Oh,  very  well.  I  shall  be  able  to  find 
out  from  you  again  where  it  may  be  situ 
ated  ;  but  now  tell  me  more  about  your 
selves.  What  were  you  doing  at  the  cas 
tle?" 

"Noble  senor,  about  three  weeks  ago  I 
was  taken  prisoner  by  the  Carlists,  and 


118 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


they  took  me  to  this  castle,  where  they 
made  me  serve  as  an  attendant  on  the  pris 
oners.  Among  them  was  this  lady." 

"Prisoners?"  cried  Lopez;  "have  they 
any  others  ?" 

"  Two  days  ago,"  said  lita,  "they  brought 
several  new  prisoners." 

"  How  many  ?" 

"  Six." 

"  Who  were  they  ?" 

"  I  don't  know — foreigners." 

"  Men  or  women  ?" 

"  Three  of  them  were  men  and  three  were 
women.  Some  one  said  they  were  Eng 
lish." 

"English?"  said  Lopez,  growing  more 
excited  still  at  this  news,  which  was  so 
much  in  accordance  with  his  wishes — 
"  English  ?  Tell  me  more  about  them." 

"  Well,  seiior,  of  the  men  one  was  elder 
ly  ;  the  other  two  were  young,  quite  hand 
some;  they  looked  rich,  noble,  proud." 

"  Never  mind.  Now  tell  me  about  the 
women.  Were  they  ladies  ?" 

"Yes,  senor,  they  were  noble  ladies, 
wealthy,  high-born,  proud.  And  one  was 
elderly,  and  they  said  she  was  a  great  lady. 
And  some  said  she  was  the  mother  of  the 
young  ladies,  though  they  did  not  look 
like  her  daughters,  nor  did  they  look  like 
sisters." 

"Tell  me  about  them;  what  did  they 
look  like?" 

"  One,  senor,  looked  like  a  Spanish  lady. 
And  she  was  dark  and  beautiful  and  sad, 
with  melancholy  eyes.  Never  did  the  sun 
shine  on  a  more  lovely  lady;  but  her  sad 
ness  always  made  me  feel  sad." 

Lopez  interrupted  her  with  an  impatient 
gesture. 

"Never  mind  her.  Now  describe  the 
other  one,"  said  he. 

"The  other?"  said  Rita;  "she  looked 
like  an  English  duchess.  She  was  light — 
oh,  a  wonderful  light  blonde,  with  golden 
hair,  and  eyes  as  blue  as  heaven,  with 
cheeks  pink-and-white,  and  with  dimples 
dancing  on  them,  and  with  the  smile  of  an 
angel  that  always  lurked  in  her  lips  and 
laughed  out  of  her  eyes.  And  she  was  as 
beautiful  as  a  dream,  and  no  one  ever  saw 
her  sad.  Heaven  does  not  hold  in  all  its 
mansions  a  more  beautiful,  beautiful  angel 
than  this  English  duchess." 

Rita  spoke  enthusiastically ;  the  more  so 
as  she  saw  Lopez  look  at  her  with  a  deep 
attention,  and  a  gaze  that  devoured  all  her 
words. 


"That  is  she!"  cried  Lopez,  in  intense 
excitement.  "  That  is  the  one  of  whom  I 
wished  to  hear.  So  you  have  seen  her? 
Ah,  well,  good  woman,  this  information  is 
your  best  passport — more,  it  is  worth  much 
to  me.  I'll  reward  you." 

"  Oh,  senor,"  said  Rita,  anxious  to  strike 
while  the  iron  was  hot,  and  secure  her  free 
dom  at  once,  "  if  this  information  is  wel 
come  and  valuable,  the  only  reward  I  want 
is  to  let  us  go.  Let  us  go,  noble  seiior,  for 
we  have  urgent  business,  and  our  detention 
here  may  be  our  ruin." 

"Ruin?"  cried  Lopez;  "what  nonsense! 
You  are  free  now,  and  safe  from  the  Car- 
lists.  As  to  letting  you  go,  that  is  out  of 
the  question.  You  are  the  very  woman  I 
want  to  see.  You  know  all  about  this  cas 
tle.  You  must  be  my  guide  back  to  it.  I 
have  been  sent  to  recapture  those  unfortu 
nate  prisoners.  I  have  been  unable  thus 
far  to  get  on  their  track.  As  to  that  cas 
tle,  there  is  a  certain  one  up  yonder  which 
I  had  an  idea  of  reconnoitring  ;  but  if  all 
I  hear  is  true,  I  shall  have  to  get  ar 
tillery.  Now  you  have  escaped,  and  you 
may  be  able  to  give  me  information  of  a 
very  valuable  kind.  I  should  like  to  know- 
how  you  contrived  to  escape  from  a  place 
like  that,  and  I  urge  you  to  be  frank  with 
me.  Remember  this,  that  the  quickest  way 
to  liberty  will  be  to  help  me  to  get  those 
prisoners.  You  must  remain  with  me  un 
til  then.  The  sooner  I  capture  them,  the 
sooner  you  shall  be  allowed  to  depart." 

All  this  was  a  sore  blow  to  Rita's  hopes; 
but  her  quick  mind  soon  took  in  all  the 
facts  of  her  position,  and  she  concluded 
that  it  would  be  best  to  be  frank,  as  the 
captain  had  urged.  She  also  saw  that  it 
would  be  for  her  interest  that  the  castle 
should  be  captured  as  soon  as  possible. 
And  she  knew,  too,  that  a  band  of  brave 
men,  headed  by  a  determined  leader,  could 
have  no  difficulty  in  capturing  the  castle 
by  a  surprise,  if  she  should  only  make 
known  to  them  the  passage-way  by  which 
she  had  lately  escaped. 

Accordingly  Rita  proceeded  to  give  to 
Lopez  a  full  account  of  the  way  in  which 
she  had  managed  to  effect  the  escape  of 
herself  and  her  companion  from  the  castle. 
Lopez  listened  with  the  deepest  attention, 
making  her  explain  with  the  utmost  mi 
nuteness  the  nature  of  the  chambers  and 
passages  which  she  had  traversed,  and 
their  position  with  reference  to  the  rest  of 
the  castle;  also  the  track  down  the  sides 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


119 


of  the  chasm ;  its  height,  length,  and  width, 
and  how  far  it  offered  concealment  to  those 
passing  over  it. 

"My  good  woman,"  said  he,  "  do  not  ob 
ject  to  a  little  further  detention.  I  assure 
you  it  need  not  be  for  more  than  twenty- 
four  hours.  After  all,  what  is  that?  By 
this  time  to-morrow  I  si i all  have  that  castle 
in  my  own  hands.  It  is  of  such  infinite 
importance  to  me  to  capture  those  prison 
ers,  that  I  assure  you  there  is  nothing  I 
will  not  do  for  you,  if  you  are  faithful  to 
me  till  I  conclude  this  business  of  mine. 
So  make  up  your  mind  to  work  for  me  in 
a  cheerful,  loyal,  active  way;  and  you  will 
rejoice  to  your  dying  day  that  you  ever 
met  with  Hernando  Lopez. 

During  this  conversation,  Russell,  stand 
ing  apart,  had  watched  them  attentively. 
Although  unable  to  understand  the  words, 
he  was  able  to  gather  from  the  faces,  gest 
ures,  and  tones  of  the  two  a  very  fair  idea 
of  their  meaning.  He  could  see  that  Lopez 
grew  more  and  more  excited ;  that  the  ex 
citement  was  most  intense,  yet  altogether 
agreeable;  and  that  he  himself  was  far, 
very  far,  from  being  the  subject  of  that 
conversation.  He  could  see  that  the  effect 
produced  upon  Lopez  was  of  the  most  de 
sirable  kind,  and  that  the  dreaded  captain 
was  now  in  a  mood  from  which  no  danger 
was  to  be  apprehended.  And  therefore  it 
was  that  the  virtuous,  jet  undeniably  timid 
Russell,  began  to  pluck  up  heart.  To  such 
a  degree  was  his  late  terror  surmounted, 
that  he  now  became  conscious  of  a  fact 
which  had  hitherto  been  suppressed  under 
the  long  excitement  of  hurried  flight  and 
sudderi  capture;  and  this  fact  was  that  he 
had  been  fasting  for  a  long  time,  and  was 
now  ravenously  hungry. 

At  length  the  conversation  ended,  and 
Lopez  was  about  to  turn  away,  when,  sud 
denly,  he  noticed  Russell.  He  raised  his 
hat  courteously  as  if  to  a  lady,  and  Russell 
returned  this  civility  with  a  most  awkward 
bow.  But  Lopez  did  not  notice  this.  He 
was  in  a  pleasant  frame  of  mind,  and  full 
of  excited  hopes. 

"  I  hope,"  said  he,  with  a  polite  smile, 
"  your  ladyship  will  not  be  put  out  by  this 
slight  delay.  Otherwise  I  am  at  your  ser 
vice." 

Russell  understood  this  to  be  an  offer  of 
assistance,  and,  feeling  secure  in  his  dis 
guise,  he  made  a  bold  effort  to  communi 
cate  with  the  enemy.  And  this  is  the  way 
he  did  it : 


"  Me  hungry,"  he  said  ;  "  d — n  hungry  1" 

"  Hungria  ?"  said  Lopez.  "Ah,  a  Hun 
garian  lady!  Ah,  true  —  I  had  forgotten. 
And  so,  Rita,  your  friend  is  a  Hungarian 
lady  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Rita,  delighted  at  having 
her  companion's  nationality  so  convenient 
ly  disposed  of.  "Yes;  she's  a  foreigner, 
a  Hungarian  lady,  and  no  one  can  under 
stand  her  language." 

"  Very  good,"  said  Lopez.  "  It  is  all  the 
same  whether  Hungarian  or  Spanish.  She 
is  a  lady,  and  shall  be  treated  as  well  as 
possible.  And  now,  Rita,  you  must  rest, 
for  you  must  be  strong  and  active  for  to 
morrow's  work." 

With  these  words  Lopez  showed  them 
to  their  resting-place.  It  was  in  the  loft, 
where  Brooke  and  Talbot  were  confined. 
Here  Rita  ascended  nimbly,  and  Russell 
followed,  not  without  difficulty  ;  and  soon 
Rita  forgot  her  fatigue,  and  Russell  his 
hunger,  in  a  sound  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

IN     WHICH     RUSSELL     MAKES      NEW     FRIENDS,     AND 
TALBOT   SEES   NEW   PERILS. 

RUSSELL  and  Rita  had  thus  been  brought 
to  the  loft  of  the  old  mill,  in  which  Brooke 
and  Talbot  were  prisoners.  It  was  fortu 
nate  for  these  latter  that  there  had  occur 
red  this  little  episode  of  the  arrival  of  new 
prisoners,  for  it  served  to  give  a  diversion 
to  their  thoughts,  turning  them  into  a  new 
channel,  and  relieving  them  from  that  in 
tense  excitement  of  feeling  by  which  they 
had  been  overcome.  It  also  gave  them  a 
subject  of  common  interest  apart  from 
themselves;  and  thus  they  were  once  more 
able  to  converse  with  one  another,  without 
having  that  sense  of  violent  self-restraint 
which  had  thus  far  afflicted  them.  Brooke 
was  able  to  be  lively,  without  any  affecta 
tion  of  too  extravagant  gayety,  and  Talbot 
was  no  longer  crushed  into  dumbness. 

They  had  seen  the  arrival  of  the  prison 
ers  from  the  window,  and  had  watched 
them  closely.  The  two  fugitives  had  been 
captured  close  by  the  mill  by  the  band  of 
Lopez,  just  as  that  band  was  approaching 
the  spot  after  a  weary  and  useless  day. 
The  examination  had  been  overheard  by 
the  two  listeners  in  the  loft,  who  were  thus 
able  to  understand  the  meaning  of  the  new 
turn  which  affairs  had  taken.  After  the 
prisoners  had  been  brought  up  to  the  loft, 


120 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


their  character  and  appearance  still  formed 
a  field  for  ingenious  speculation ;  and  many 
were  the  theories  hazarded  by  each,  in  turn, 
toward  the  solution  of  those  points. 

Morning  at  length  came,  and  the  prison 
ers  awaked.  Rita  was  first  on  her  feet,  and 
Brooke  was  able  to  read  her  whole  char 
acter  at  a  glance.  He  saw  her  to  be  a  com 
mon  sort  of  woman,  with  a  bold  face,  pierc 
ing  eyes,  and  ready  tongue.  He  soon  en 
tered  into  a  conversation  with  her,  and 
learned  from  her  exactly  what  she  had  al 
ready  told  Lopez.  She  also  informed  him 
that  Lopez  had  detained  her,  in  order  that 
she  might  guide  him.  back  to  the  castle. 
This  much  Brooke  had  already  gathered 
from  what  little  he  had  overheard  of  the 
examination  of  the  previous  evening,  and 
it  gave  him  unmixed  pleasure.  For,  al 
though  he  had  refused  to  violate  his  honor 
by  acting  as  guide  to  betray  the  castle,  he 
had  no  objection  that  others  should  do  so. 
The  fate  of  the  castle  and  its  Carlist  occu 
pants  was  in  itself  a  matter  of  indifference 
to  him.  To  be  taken  there  would  make  an 
agreeable  change  for  himself  and  Talbot. 
If  Lopez  should  take  them  with  him,  it 
would  be  pleasant  to  go  back  with  Talbot 
to  that  tower  and  renew  the  past ;  and  al 
though,  for  reasons  already  given,  he  did 
not  feel  like  flying  with  her,  still  he  felt 
that  liberty  would  be  better  for  both,  and 
was  ready  to  avail  himself  of  any  chance 
that  might  offer. 

Brooke  reported  to  Talbot  what  Rita 
had  said,  and  while  they  were  conversing 
Russell  awoke.  Suddenly  he  detected,  to 
his  amazement,  the  sound  of  English  words. 
The  shock  was  so  great  that  he  was  on  the 
very  point  of  betraying  himself,  and  it  was 
only  by  a  strong  effort  that  he  maintained  his 
self-control.  Then,  listening  quietl}7,  he.  un 
derstood  the  whole  state  of  the  case,  as  it  had 
resulted  from  Rita's  examination  by  Lopez. 

Unable  to  sleep  any  longer,  Russell  roused 
himself,  and  slowly  putting  himself  on  his 
feet,  walked  to  the  window.  His  figure 
and  movements  at  once  struck  the  notice 
of  Talbot,  who  drew  the  attention  of 
Brooke  to  the  strange  and  eccentric  atti 
tudes  of  the  "  Hungarian  countess."  Brooke 
scrutinized  the  good  Russell  closely,  and 
expressed  his  opinions  with  great  freedom, 
and  a  severe  criticism  followed,  in  which 
these  two,  safe,  as  they  supposed,  in  the  ig 
norance  of  the  foreigner,  made  very  severe 
strictures  upon  Russell's  whole  personnel. 

Russell,  for  his  part,  watched  them  as 


well  as  he  could,  and  listened  attentively, 
without  being  in  the  least  offended.  He 
could  perceive  easily  enough  that  the  priest 
was  English  and  the  other  was  American. 
He  longed,  in  his  helplessness,  to  take  them 
into  his  confidence.  He  was  not  at  all  sat 
isfied  with  his  own  relations  toward  Rita, 
and  thought  that  if  he  could  only  trust 
these  two,  who  were  of  his  own  blood,  lie 
might  be  safe.  And  yet  he  felt  the  need 
of  caution.  They  might  betray  him.  Like 
himself,  they  were  prisoners,  perhaps  in  a 
more  perilous  situation,  and  would  not  hesi 
tate  to  sacrifice  him  if  they  could  gain  any 
thing  by  it. 

When  he  heard  of  the  proposed  return 
to  the  castle,  he  felt  at  first  thoroughly  dis 
mayed.  Farther  thought,  however,  made 
it  seem  less  dreadful,  for  he  hoped  that  if 
Lopez  were  to  capture  the.  place  and  de 
liver  Katie,  his  wrath  might  be  appeased, 
and  he  might  recover  his  hidden  money; 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  he  perceived  that 
if  the  worst  came  to  the  worst  and  his 
disguise  was  discovered,  Lopez  even  then 
could  not  be  more  dangerous  than  "  His 
Majesty"  had  been. 

There  was  something,  however,  in  the 
tone  and  manner  of  these  two,  as  well  as  in 
their  general  aspect,  which  gradually  broke 
down  the  mistrust  and  reserve  of  Russell. 
He  began  to  feel  convinced  that  he  might 
trust  them,  that  his  secret  would  be  safe  in 
their  hands,  and  that  they  might  give  him 
valuable  information  and  advice,  if  not  as 
sistance.  Besides,  he  reflected  that  chances 
of  escape  might  arise,  and  he  thought  that 
he  would  be  safer  in  their  company  than  in 
that  of  Rita.  Finally,  he  came  to  the  con 
clusion  to  trust  them.  But  here  he  deter 
mined  to  go  only  half-way.  He  would  tell 
them  that  he  was  English,  but  not  an  Eng 
lishman,  and  would  leave  farther  disclos 
ures  to  the  chapter  of  accidents.  If  Lopez 
should  discover  this  much  and  no  more, 
there  would  be  no  danger,  and  he  might 
conclude  that  lie  himself  had  made  the 
mistake,  since  Hungarian  and  English  were 
both  alike  unknown  to  him. 

After  careful  observation,  Russell  also 
concluded  that  he  would  be  safer  if  he  ad 
dressed  his  confidences  to  the  young  priest 
with  the  sweet  and  gentle  face.  The  other 
one  looked  less  trustworthy,  or  at  least 
less  inclined  to  pity.  Under  these  circum 
stances,  therefore,  and  with  this  design,  the 
good  man  began  his  advances,  moving  in  a 
hesitating  way  toward  them,  with  furtive 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


121 


glances,  and  with  such  very  extraordinary 
gestures  that  Brooke  and  Talbot  regarded 
him  in  great  surprise. 

"The  Hungarian  countess,"  said  Talbot, 
"  seems  more  eccentric  than  ever." 

Russell  looked  all  around  in  a  stealthy 
way.  Rita's  eyes  were  fixed  on  him,  but 
he  did  not  care  for  that.  He  smiled  at 
her,  however,  and  nodded  blithely,  so  as 
to  disarm  any  possible  suspicions,  and  then 
addressed  himself  to  Talbot. 

"  Oh,  sir !"  said  he,  "  I'm  not  a  Hungari- 
an  countess  at  all.  I'm  a  poor  unfortunate 
English-woman,  that's  escaping  from  the 
banditti,  with  the  help  of  this  good  creat 
ure.  And  I  know  I  can  trust  you." 

At  this  the  amazement  of  Brooke  and 
Talbot  was  inexpressible.  Brooke,  how 
ever,  held  his  tongue,  seeing  that  as  Talbot 
had  been  addressed,  it  would  be  better  for 
her  to  answer.  So  Talbot,  after  a  few  ex 
pressions  of  sympathy,  asked  Russell  to  ex 
plain  farther. 

Russell  then  informed  them  that  her 
name  was  Mrs.  Russell ;  that  she  had  been 
captured,  along  with  her  daughter,  by  the 
Carlists ;  that  she  had  escaped,  hoping  to 
get  help  to  rescue  her  daughter.  All  this 
Russell  stated,  not  without  much  circum 
locution  and  contradiction. 

Brooke  now  interposed. 

"  But  don't  you  know,"  said  lie,  "  that 
these  people  are  Republicans — that  they're 
going  to  capture  the  castle,  or  try  to  ?  If 
they  succeed,  they  will  free  your  daughter. 
So  you  see  you  have  fallen  among  the  right 
sort  of  people,  and  you  may  be  quite  at  your 
ease.  It's  all  the  best  for  you.  If  I  were 
you,  I  would  tell  the  captain  all  about  it. 
Get  yonder  good  woman,  your  companion, 
to  explain." 

At  this  Russell  gave  a  look  of  despair. 

"  The  very  thing,1'  said  he,  "  that  I  dare 
not  clo." 
-"Why  not?" 

Russell  then,  still  keeping  up  the  part  of 
Mrs.  Russell,  and  mentioning  Katie  as  her 
daughter,  explained  that  Lopez  was  his  bit 
ter  enemy,  and  told  them  about  his  love  for 
Katie  and  his  ejection  from  the  railway- 
carriage. 

"Well,"  said  Brooke,  "you  needn't  be 
afraid  of  him.  This  matter  will  settle 
itself.  He'll  free  your  daughter  from  cap 
tivity,  and  she'll  marry  him,  of  course.  Af 
ter  that  you  can  take  the  sweetest  revenge 
on  him  by  tormenting  him  for  the  rest  of 
his  days  as  his  mother-in-law." 


Russell  sighed  a  heavy  sigh  and  turned 
away.  As  he  did  so,  he  caught  the  eyes  of 
Rita,  which  were  fastened  upon  him  with  a 
fixed,  earnest,  eager  stare,  and  there  was  that 
in  her  look  which  served  to  drive  away  ev 
ery  other  thought  except  the  one  that  in 
this  woman  there  was  a  new  danger,  more 
formidable  than  any  which  had  yet  men 
aced  him.  This  look  made  him  feel  like  an 
arrested  debtor  in  the  grasp  of  the  bailiff,  or 
like  an  insane  man  under  the  watchful  eye 
of  his  keeper.  In  Rita  he  now  recognized 
his  bailiff  and  his  keeper.  She  was  worse. 
She  had  designs  on  him!  And  for  what? 
For  marrying  him.  Marriage  was,  of  course, 
impossible,  for  he  had  a  wife  already ;  but 
did  Rita  know  this  ?  To  tell  the  truth,  he 
had  been  fooling  her;  and  he  now  saw  for 
the  first  time  that  he  would  have  to  answer 
for  this.  When  she  should  discover  it,  what 
would  she  do?  He  had  heard  the  words 
of  the  poet : 

"Hell  hath  110  fury  like  a  woman  scorned, " 

and  he  recalled  these  words  only  to  shud 
der.  He  shuddered  still  more  as  he  thought 
that  Rita  belonged  to  the  Spanish  race — a 
race  that  never  forgives — a  race  implacable, 
swift  to  avenge — a  race  that  recognizes  only 
one  atonement  for  wrongs,  and  that  is  to 
wipe  them  out  in  blood. 

Such  were  the  thoughts  of  our  honest 
friend,  and  they  were  painful  in  the  ex 
treme.  They  awakened  new  fears.  That 
one  look  of  Rita's  made  him  dread  her 
more  than  Lopez,  more  than  "  His  Majesty." 
He  began  to  think  now,  with  something 
like  pleasure,  of  going  back  to  the  castle. 
Lopez  would  protect  him ;  and  if  Lopez 
should  fail,  he  would  steal  back  by  the 
secret  path  and  surrender  himself  to  "His 
Majesty."  He  would  find  his  bonds,  and 
purchase  his  freedom  with  these.  In  ad 
dition  to  this,  he  determined  to  wait  for 
a  favorable  opportunity,  when  Rita  might 
be  away,  to  confide  to  these  new  and  sym 
pathizing  friends  the  whole  story  of  his 
woes. 

Further  conversation  between  Russell 
and  these  new  friends  was  now  prevented 
by  the  entrance  of  Lopez  himself.  He  ad 
vanced  to  Brooke,  and  addressed  him  with 
much  civility,  not  without  friendliness. 

"  Senor,"  said  he,  "  I  have  been  thinking 
over  your  case,  and  I  have  concluded  to 
hand  you  over  to  my  military  superiors. 
They  may  take  the  responsibility  of  decid 
ing  about  your  guilt  or  innocence.  But  for 


12-2 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


the  present,  as  I  am  responsible  for  you,  I 
must  detain  you  as  my  prisoner.  If  you 
were  only  connected  with  some  recognized 
profession,  I  should  be  happy  to  accept 
your  parole,  and  let  you  follow  at  your 
leisure ;  but  as  you  are  considered  here  a 
possible  spy,  I  cannot  think  of  that.  You 
must,  therefore,  come  with  us  under  guard. 
Moreover,  as  to  your  friend,  this  young 
priest,  he  must  consider  himself  as  bound, 
for  a  short  time,  with  us.  I  expect  to  have 
need  of  him  for  a  few  days.  I  have  noth 
ing  against  him;  he  is  not  a  prisoner,  but 
is  detained  merely  for  a  purpose  in  con 
nection  with  his  sacred  office.  When  that 
purpose  is  accomplished,  he  will  be  at  lib 
erty  to  go  or  stay." 

With  these  words  Lopez  retired.  He  had 
taken  no  notice  of  Russell,  at  which  the 
latter  felt  a  deep  sense  of  relief. 

Far  different,  however,  were  the  feelings 
of  Brooke,  and  of  Talbot  also,  when  he  had 
translated  to  her  the  captain's  words. 

"  He  has  need  of  me,"  repeated  Talbot, 
"  for  a  purpose  in  connection  with  my  sa 
cred  office.  Is  that  what  he  said,  Brooke  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Brooke,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  But  what  am  I  to  do  ?" 

Brooke  led  her  away,  out  of  Russell's 
hearing,  and  conversed  with  her  in  low 
whispers. 

"Don't  anticipate  trouble,  Talbot,"  he 
whispered. 

"  But  I  must  prepare  myself  for  a  possible 
emergency,"  was  the  reply.  "  Now,  what 
emergency  can  possibly  arise  ?" 

"  The  burial  of  the  dead,  perhaps,"  said 
Brooke.  "  They  are  going  to  attack  the 
castle.  Some  will  be  killed.  That's  nat 
ural  enough.  Have  you  nerve  enough  to 
perform  the  burial-service  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Talbot,  "  I  might 
as  well  try  to  command  a  regiment." 

"  Oh,  I'll  show  you  the  whole  thing.  All 
you've  got  to  do  is  to  read  the  burial-ser 
vice  out  of  the  breviary.  We'll  practice  it 
together.  You  need  only  pronounce  the 
Latin  like  Italian.  Do  you  know  Italian  ?" 

"  No." 

"  French  ?" 

"No." 

"  Oh,  well,  you're  an  English  priest,  you 
know,  and  so  you  had  better  pronounce  it 
like  English.  These  devils  will  be  none 
the  wiser." 

Talbot  was  silent  and  thoughtful  for  a 
few  moments. 

"  Brooke,"  said  she,  at  length, "  what  were 


they  saying  about  Lopez  going  to  rescue 
an  English  girl,  this — this  person's  daugh 
ter?  This  person,  a  —  Mrs.  Russell,  said 
that  Lopez  was  in  love  with  the  girl.  You 
spoke  about  his  rescuing  her  and  marrying 
her." 

She  hesitated. 

"  Well  ?"  said  Brooke. 

"  Well,"  said  Talbot,  mournfully,  "  don't 
you  see  what  I  mean  ?  and  the  use  he 
wishes  to  make  of  me  in  my  false  charac 
ter  as  priest  ?" 

"By  Jove!"  exclaimed  Brooke,  as  Tal- 
bot's  meaning  dawned  upon  him. 

"  You  see,  Brooke,  I'm  afraid  that  in  my 
disguise  as  priest  I  may  be  required  to 
marry  this  English  girl  to  Lopez ;  and  that 
is  sacrilege — it  is  infamy — it  is  too  horri 
ble.  I  cannot — I  will  not.  Never  !" 

At  this  Brooke  was  filled  with  conster 
nation.  He  could  only  say  something  about 
the  necessity  of  not  anticipating  evil,  and 
express  the  hope  that  it  might  only  be  a 
burial.  But  Talbot  felt  that  her  fear  was 
just,  and  that  a  new  and  unavoidable  dan 
ger  now  arose  before  her. 

In  a  short  time  after  this  the  band  set 
off,  guided  by  Rita,  Toward  evening  they 
reached  a  spot  about  a  mile  from  the  castle, 
where  they  secreted  themselves  in  a  grove, 
and  rested. 

Evening  came,  and  the  moon  rose.  Then, 
as  silently  as  possible,  they  went  to  the 
tower.  Here  arrangements  were  made  for 
the  security  of  the  prisoners,  and  Rita  pre 
pared  to  lead  the  baud  through  the  secret 
way  into  the  castle. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

IN  WHICH,  AFTER   A   SERIES  OF   SURPRISES,  "  HIS 
MAJESTY"  GETS  THE  GREATEST  SURPRISE  OF  ALL. 

.  RETURN  must  now  be  made  to  the  castle 
and  the  two  young  men  whose  duel  had 
been  interrupted.  Captured  thus,  they 
stood  for  a  time  quite  overwhelmed,  their 
intense  excitement  now  followed  by  a  vio 
lent  reaction,  in  the  midst  of  which  there 
was  the  appalling  thought  of  the  conse 
quences  which  might  flow  from  this.  For 
Ashby  to  be  found  in  Harry's  room  would 
surely  lead  to  the  discovery  of  everything 
— the  secret  passage-way,  the  sliding-door, 
and,  perhaps,  their  visits  to  the  ladies. 
Each  one  thought  of  this  for  himself.  Each 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


123 


one  had  believed  that  the  Carlists  did  not 
know  about  the  secret  passages.  But  now 
all  was  over. 

"Well,"  continued  "  His  Majesty,"  speak 
ing  in  Spanish,  "  business  before  pleasure. 
We  will  examine  you  both  about  this  to 
morrow.  For  the  present  we  will  leave  a 
guard  in  this  room.  Meanwhile,  Senor 
Rivers,  you  may  hand  over  that  pistol ;  or 
stay  —  no  —  you  have  put  it  to  such  a  no 
ble  use  that  you  may  keep  it :  one  pistol 
against  six  men  need  not  be  feared.  And 
now,  gentlemen,  adieu  till  to-morrow." 

With  these  words  "His  Majesty"  re 
tired,  securing  the  door  behind  him,  and 
Harry  and  Ashby  were  left  with  the  guards. 
They  stood  apart  from  one  another,  pale, 
anxious,  and  each  wrapped  up  in  his  own 
thoughts.  For  all  that  had  happened  each 
blamed  the  other,  and  thus  their  mutual 
hate  was  only  intensified. 

The  cause  of  "His  Majesty's"  appear 
ance  upon  the  scene  can  be  easily  explained. 
He  had  been  greatly  troubled  in  his  mind 
by  the  "ghost"  in  Mrs.  Russell's  room,  and 
could  not  account  for  it.  He  had  not 
thought  of  any  secret  communication,  for, 
being  a  comparative  stranger  here,  he  had 
not  known  of  any.  Thinking,  however, 
that  he  might  get  some  light  on  the  sub 
ject,  he  had  wandered  to  the  door  of  Har 
ry's  room,  and  there  the  sound  of  voices 
had  arrested  his  attention.  Knowing  that 
Harry  was  placed  there  in  solitary  confine 
ment,  he  felt  that  the  clue  to  the  mystery 
might  now  be  here;  and  so,  gathering  half 
a  dozen  men,  lie  had  come  in  upon  them  as 
above  described. 

Leaving  this  room,  "His  Majesty"  now 
went  once  more  to  the  room  of  Mrs.  Rus 
sell,  in  the  hope  of  gaining  more  light  yet. 
Upon  entering,  he  was  once  more  nearly 
overthrown  by  the  impetuous  onslaught  of 
the  irrepressible  Mrs.  Russell,  who,  at  this 
new  and  unexpected  advent  of  her  royal 
lover,  overwhelmed  herself  and  everybody 
else  with  her  joyous  vociferations.  This, 
however,  "His  Majesty"  endured  with  tru 
ly  royal  dignity,  tempering  kindness  with 
firmness,  and  dealing  gently  with  her  weak 
woman's  nature.  Katie  was  there,  but  the 
royal  eye,  on  wandering  about,  noticed  the 
absence  of  Dolores. 

"  Whativer's  become  av  the  senorita?" 
he  asked. 

Mrs.  Russell  gave  a  startled  look  around. 

"  What !  Where  is  she  ?  She's  gone  !" 
she  screamed  ;  "  she's  gone  !  Oh^  Your 


Gracious  Majesty,  the  ghost  I  the  ghost  1 
Save  me !" 

"  Whisht  1  Howld  yer  tung !"  said  "  His 
Majesty."  "  The  ghost,  is  it  ?  So  he's  come 
an'  carried  off  the  senorita  1  Well,  I've 
found  the  ghost." 

"  Found  the  ghost !"  gasped  Mrs.  Russell. 

"  Mesilf  has.  Begorra,  it's  the  truth  I'm 
tellin'.  Do  ye  know  his  name  ?" 

"  His  name !"  gasped  Mrs.  Russell,  once 
more  thinking  of  her  late  terrible  fancy. 

"  Yis,  his  name ;  ye  can't  guess  it  ? 
No  ?  Well,  I'll  tell  yez.  It's  Ashby." 

"Ashby  !  Mr.  Ashby  !"  cried  Mrs.  Rus 
sell.  "  Why  !  how  could  he  get  here  ?" 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  "His  Majesty,"  "  he  did 
get  here,  an'  that's  no  loie.  How  he  got 
here  I'll  find  out  to-morrer.  But  he  did 
get  here,  an'  he's  been  here  since,  an'  by 
the  same  token  he's  sperited  off  the  seuo- 
rita.  But  there's  two  av  thim." 

"  Two  of  them  1"  repeated  Mrs.  Russell, 
in  wonder. 

"  Ay,  two  av  thim  ;  an'  the  other's  that 
young  blade  Rivers  !" 

Katie,  thus  far,  had  not  said  a  word. 
She  heard  of  the  discovery  of  Ashby  with 
surprise,  but  with  no  deeper  feeling.  The 
moment,  however,  that  the  name  of  Rivers 
was  mentioned,  she  gave  a  gasp,  and  her 
head  fell  forward  on  her  hands. 

"  His  Majesty  "  noticed  the  action.  He 
put  his  own  interpretation  upon  it.  But 
he  said  not  a  word  that  had  any  reference 
to  it ;  he  was  too  cautious  for  that.  And 
surely  in  this  uHis  Majesty"  showed 
a  skill  and  a  discrimination  which  was 
most  politic,  and  well  worthy  of  the  royal 
ruler  of  millions.  More  than  this.  One 
glance  showed  him  how  the  land  lay  with 
Katie;  so  our  monarch,  not  content  with 
abstaining  from  all  further  allusion  to  Har 
ry,  actually  carried  his  complaisance  —  or, 
if  you  please,  his  diplomacy  —  so  far  as  to 
try  to  appease  all  possible  anxieties  that 
might  arise  in  Katie's  mind. 

"  Shure  the  two  lads  meant  no  harrum 
at  all  at  all,"  said  "  His  Majesty."  "  They 
happened  to  find  a  way  to  get  here,  an' 
they  came  here,  an'  begorra  they'd  have 
been  fools  if  they  didn't.  Shure  to  glory, 
there's  no  harrum  in  life  in  comin'  here  on 
a  bit  av  a  visit.  An'  there's  no  wondher 
that  a  young  man  'ud  come  here,  wid  such 
charrums  as  these  to  invoite  him.  Shure 
it  'ud  be  enough  to  call  the  dead  back  to 
loife,  so  it  would.  An'  if  they've  run  off 
wid  the  senorita,  all  I  can  say  is,  they  can't 


124 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


go  fur,  an'  the   senorita'll  have  to   come 
back  agin,  so  she  will : 

"  '  'Tis  to  visit  my  Nancy  I  go, 

Through  bushes  au1  briers  an'  finds  ; 
For  Nancy  has  bothered  me  brains, 
Au'  I've  taken  French  lave  av  me  siusis.'  " 

"And  wasn't  there  any  ghost  at  all?" 
asked  Mrs.  Russell,  to  whom  this  informa 
tion  had  given  inexpressible  relief. 

"  Well,"  said  "  His  Majesty,  "  there's  no 
knowin' ;  an'  it's  best  to  be  on  yer  gyard, 
so  it  is,  for  sorra  a  one  av  us  knows  whin 
a  ghost  may  be  prowlin'  round  about,  an' 
there  ye  have  it.  As  for  the  other  ghosts, 
Ashby  an'  Rivers,  they  won't  do  yez  any 
more  harrum — they're  undher  gyard." 

"  Under  guard  !"  said  Katie,  and  threw 
an  imploring  look  at  "His  Majesty."  It 
was  almost  the  first  time  that  he  had  fairly 
caught  her  eye,  so  dexterously  had  she  al 
ways  avoided  his  glance. 

"Well,"  said  "His  Majesty,"  "they're 
none  the  worse  for  that — not  a  bit.  Av  all 
r'y'l  atthributes  none  is  so  thruly  majistic 
as  the  atthributes  av  mercy,  an'  makeniss, 
an'  magnanimeetee.  These  are  the  shu- 
prame  atthributes  av  r'y'lty,  an"1  iminintly 
characterize  our  own  r'y'l  chyracter,  so  they 
does.  So  the  young  lads  may  whistle  for 
all  av  me— an'  sorra  a  harrum  shall  harrum 
thim." 

At  this  Katie  threw  toward  "His  Maj 
esty"  a  glance  of  gratitude  unspeakable, 
which  sank  deep  into  the  royal  soul. 

"An'  now,  ladies,"  said  he,  "  I  must  in- 
farrum  yez  that  afther  the  ayvints  av  this 
noight  I  doesn't  considher  this  room  safe 
for  yez  at  all  at  all.  Shure  it's  loike  a  pub 
lic  thoroughfare,  an'  it's  a  gathering-place 
an'  rendezvous  for  min  an'  angils,  ghosts 
an'  hobgoblins,  an'  all  manner  av  ayvil 
craytures.  So  the  long  an'  the  short  av  it 
is,  I  have  to  infarrum  yez  that  I'm  going  to 
move  yez  out  av  this  the  morrer,  an'  have 
yez  put  in  another  room  where  there  won't 
be  nothin'  in  loife  to  harrum  yez,  where  ye'll 
have  more  comfort  comboined  with  safety 
thin  ye've  had  here." 

This  remark  made  Katie  reflect.  The 
worst  had  already  happened — the  discov 
ery  and  arrest  of  Harry.  After  that  she 
could  not  hope  to  see  him  again.  She  did 
not  wish  to  leave  the  room;  but  as  Harry's 
visits  were  now  at  an  end,  she  could  not 
see  that  it  would  make  any  difference. 
But  Mrs.  Russell  had  a  great  deal  to  say. 

"  Oh,  how  grateful !"  she  cried,  in  her 
most  gushing  manner.  "  Oh,  how  deeply 


grateful  I  am  to.  Your  Gracious  Majesty ! 
It's  so  kind,  so  thoughtful,  so  considerate, 
and  so  true.  Oh,  what  can  I  ever  say  or 
do  to  express  my  gratitude  ?  Only,  Your 
Gracious  Majesty,  do  not  leave  me  now ! 
Leave  me  not — oh,  forsake  me  not !  This 
room  is  a  place  of  horrors.  It  is  a  haunted 
chamber.  When  you  are  here,  I  have  no 
fear;  but  \vhen  you  are  gone,  then  I  am 
overwhelmed.  Oh,  Your  Gracious  Majes 
ty,  forsake  me  not !  Leave  me  not !  Oh, 
leave  me  not,  or — I — shall — die  !" 

Against  such  an  appeal  as  this  the  gal 
lantry  of"  His  Majesty  "  was  scarcely  proof. 
He  threw  a  tender  glance  at  Katie,  which, 
however, was  not  perceived,  and  then  said: 

"  Shure  to  glory,  if  it's  afeared  ye  are,  why 
that's  a  different  matther,  so  it  is.  I  didn't 
intind  to  move  yez  away  this  noight;  but 
if  yez  are  afeared,  why  there's  no  raison  in 
loife  why  yez  shouldn't  go  off  now  to  the 
other  room." 

"  Oh,  take  me  away  !"  cried  Mrs.  Russell ; 
"take  me  away,  Your  Royal  Majesty— take 
me  with  you  !" 

"  Shure  it's  mesilf  that'll  take  both  av  yez, 
if  ye  wish  it,  whiniver  ye  say  the  worrud," 
said  "His  Majesty."  "An'  remimber, 
there's  the  crown  av  Spain,  an'  the  power, 
an'  the  glory,  an'  the  dignity,  an'  the  pomp, 
an'  the  splindor  av  the  Spanish  throne,  all 
to  be  had  wid  a  wink  av  one  av  your  love 
ly  eyes,  so  it  is.  Remimber  that." 

"  Ah,  sire !"  said  Mrs.  Russell,  languish- 
ingly.  "  Oh,  Your  Gracious  Majesty !  All, 
what  shall  I  say  ?" 

She  had  taken  it  all  to  herself,  and  in 
the  most  open  way;  while  Katie  didn't 
take  it  at  all.  "  Plis  Majesty  "  saw  this,  and 
determined  to  be  more  direct. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  ye  see—" 

But  at  this  moment  a  wild  yell  sounded 
forth  from  without,  with  sudden  and  ap 
palling  fury.  It  burst  upon  their  ears, 
from  the  stillness  of  midnight,  with  terrific 
violence,  chilling  the  very  blood  in  their 
veins.  Then  came  the  rush  of  heavy  feet, 
the  clatter  of  swords,  the  explosion  of  fire 
arms,  the  shouts  of  many  voices  : 

"  Hurrah  for  the  Republic  !" 

"  Down  with  the  Carlists  !" 

Mrs.  Russell  gave  a  long,  piercing  yell, 
which  drowned  every  other  sound,  and 
flung  herself  into  "His  Majesty's"  arms. 

"  His  Majesty  "  tore  himself  away. 

"What's  that?"  he  cried.  "It's  an  in 
surrection  av  the  populace,  so  it  is.  We'll 
go  off  an'  mate  thim." 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


125 


With  these  words  he  rushed  out  of  the 
room. 

The  ladies  were  left  alone,  and  listened 
in  terror  to  the  uproar.  Up  from  every  side 
there  came  the  shouts  of  men,  the  tramp  of 
rushing  feet,  the  clangor  of  trumpets,  and 
the  thunder  of  fire-arms.  Far  on  high 
from  the  battlemented  roof;  far  down  from 
the  vaulted  cellars;  without,  from  the  court 
yards;  within,  from  unseen  chambers,  came 
the  uproar  of  fighting-men.  There  was  a 
wild  rush  forward,  and  another  fierce  rush 
backward ;  now  all  the  conflict  seemed  to 
sway  on  one  side,  now  on  another ;  at  one 
time  the  congregated  sounds  would  all 
gather  apparently  in  one  central  point,  then 
this  would  burst  and  break,  and  with  a 
wild  explosion  all  the  castle,  in  every  part, 
would  be  filled  with  universal  riot.  Then 
came  the  clang  of  arms,  the  volleying  of 
guns,  the  trampling  of  feet,  the  hurrying, 
the  struggling,  the  panting,  the  convulsive 
screaming  of  a  multitude  of  men  in  the 
fierce,  hot  agony  of  battle. 

In  the  midst  of  this  the  door  was  flung 
open,  and  "  His  Majesty "  burst  into  the 
room.  His  apparel  was  all  disordered; 
his  face  and  hands  were  blackened  with 
powder  and  stained  with  blood.  He  ap 
peared  to  have  been  in  the  thickest  of  the 
fight.  He  burst  in,  and  instantly  banging 
to  the  door,  he  fastened  it  on  the  inside. 

"  We're  betrayed  !"  he  cried.  "  It's  the 
iuimy  !  We'll  be  captured  !  We'll  be  ex 
ecuted  !  All's  lost !" 

At  this  Mrs.  Russell  flung  herself  into  the 
royal  arms.  "  His  Majesty "  had  by  this 
time  grown  so  accustomed  to  this  that  he 
accepted  it  with  resignation  as  part  of  the 
misfortunes  of  the  hour,  and  merely  heaved 
a  sigh. 

But  they  were  roused  by  thunderous 
blows  upon  the  door.  Massive  though  that 
door  was,  it  would  soon  be  beaten  in  by 
such  blows  as  those. 

"  We're  lost !"  cried  "  His  Majesty."  "Is 
there  any  way  out  ?  Shure  some  av  yez 
know,"  he  asked,  eagerly.  "  Ye  know," 
he  snid,  earnestly,  to  Katie,  "  the  way — the 
way  he  came — Rivers  !" 

"  His  Majesty's  "  position  was  desperate. 
At  such  an  appeal  Katie  could  not  be  un 
moved. 

"  Save  me  !  Show  me  the  way,"  repeat 
ed  "  His  Majesty." 

Katie  said  nothing.  She  hurried  toward 
the  fireplace.  "His  Majesty"  followed. 
Mrs.  Russell  still  clung  to  the  royal  person. 


Katie  pointed  up  the  steps  to  the  open 
ing. 

"  Is  it  there  ?  —  begorra,  inesilf  never 
knowed  it  or  suspected  it." 

He  seized  a  torch  that  lay  in  the  fire 
place,  and  sprang  up  into  the  opening. 
Then  he  lighted  it. 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  take  me,  Your  Sa 
cred  Majesty  ?  Oh,  leave  me  not !" 

"  Be  jabers  !"  cried  "  His  Majesty,"  "I'll 
baffle  thim  yet :  yis,  ladies — I'll  help  yez — 
come  along,  thin." 

Mrs.  Russell  came  first ;  Katie  then  fol 
lowed.  Katie's  motive  in  following  was 
nothing  in  particular,  but  several  in  gen 
eral.  In  the  first  place,  she  was  afraid  of 
the  fighting-men  bursting  into  the  room ; 
in  the  second  place,  she  naturally  clung  to 
the  fortunes  of  her  auntie  ;  and,  finally,  she 
had  a  vague  idea  of  meeting  with  Harry. 

Thus  the  two  ladies  followed,  while  "  His 
Majesty"  went  ahead,  carrying  the  torch. 
At  length  he  came  to  a  place  where  the 
stone  opened  into  the  passage-way.  It  had 
been  left  open  by  Ashby.  This  place  seem 
ed  to  "  His  Majesty"  to  lead  in  a  more  favor 
able  direction,  and  accordingly  he  turned 
in  here.  Then  he  descended  the  steps,  and 
finally  reached  an  opening.  He  stood  here 
and  listened.  The  room  below  seemed 
empty.  He  descended,  requesting  the  la 
dies  to  wait  a  few  moments.  On  reaching 
the  room,  he  perceived  that  it  was  closed. 
The  door  had  not  been  opened.  Ashby 
was  not  there,  of  course,  as  "  His  Majesty  " 
knew  ;  but  "His  Majesty"  was  not  a  little 
surprised  at  seeing  Dolores.  There  was  no 
chance  for  her  to  hide,  so  she  stood  look 
ing  at  him.  But  her  £ice  was  pale,  and 
sad,  and  frightened. 

Before  a  word  could  be  said,  Mrs.  Rus 
sell  scrambled  clown,  and  came  clinging 
to  "His  Majesty."  Katie  followed,  and, 
in  great  amazement,  saw  Dolores.  She  at 
once  ran  up  to  her,  put  her  arms  around 
her,  and  kissed  her. 

"  I  might  accuse  this  senorita  of  high- 
traison,"  said  "  His  Majesty,"  "  but  what's 
the  use  ?" 

"Oh,  sire,  spare  her!"  said  Mrs.  Russell. 
"  Remember  that  mercy  is  majesty's  darling 
attribute." 

"Bedad  it  is,"  said  "His  Majesty." 
"  Who  iver  says  it  isn't  ?  And  you,  sen 
orita,"  said  "His  Majesty"  to  Dolores,  in 
Spanish  —  "  you  seem  to  know  the  secret 
ways  here." 

"Yes." 


126 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


"  Why  did  you  coine  here  ?" 

"  I  fled  here." 

"His  Majesty"  smiled. 

"  Oh,  I  understand ;  but  don't  fear  me. 
I  wouldn't  harm  you  —  though  this  does 
look  like  treason.  Still,  answer  me  frankly, 
do  you  know  any  other  secret  passages  ?" 

"  I  know  them  all." 

"  Will  you  help  me  to  escape  ?" 

Dolores  hesitated. 

"  You  need  not  hesitate ;  if  you  don't 
help  me  I'll  kill  you.  No,  I  won't  kill  you 
— I'll  kill  Ashby.  He's  in  the  hands  of  six 
of  my  guards.  I've  only  to  give  the  word, 
and  he'll  be  shot.  Quick,  now — what  do 
you  say?" 

"  Will  you  let  me  go  free  ?"  asked  Do 
lores. 

"  Well,"  said  "  His  Majesty,"  "  under  the 
circumstances,  I  think  I  will  consent  to  let 
you  go  free.  Oh  yes;  only  show  me  the 
way  out,  and  you  may  do  as  you  choose." 

"  Then  I  will  show  you,"  said  Dolores. 
"  But,  first,  will  you  tell  me  in  what  room 
Senor  Ashby  is  confined  ?" 

"No,"  said  "His  Majesty  ;"  "get  me  out 
first,  and  then  I  will  let  you  know  all  you 
wish." 

"Very  well,"  said  Dolores. 

She  led  the  way  up  into  the  passage 
which  they  had  left.  Mrs.  Russell  followed 
close  upon  "His  Majesty's"  heels.  As  for 
Katie,  she  did  not  move. 

Follow  ?  Why  should  she  ?  It  was  quiet 
here,  and  the  immediate  fear  of  the  armed 
men  no  longer  impelled  her  away.  Should 
she  leave  the  castle  ?  Not  she.  The  cas 
tle  seemed  to  be  captured  by  some  enemy. 
This  enemy  must  be  the  soldiers  of  the 
government.  In  that  case  she  ought  by 
all  means  to  stay.  Besides,  she  knew  that 
Harry  was  still  here,  and  to  escape  without 
him  was  not  to  be  thought  of. 

The  consequence  was  that  Katie  remain 
ed  behind.  It  wras  very  dark  ;  but  that 
made  no  difference,  as  she  had  grown  ac 
customed  to  the  darkness  since  she  had 
come  here.  True,  the  moonbeams  glim 
mered  through  the  narrow  windows,  but 
the  greater  part  of  the  room  was  sunk  in 
gloom.  She  thought  for  a  moment  of  try 
ing  to  persuade  her  "Auntie"  to  remain; 
but  the  next  instant  she  reflected  upon  the 
infatuation  of  "  Auntie  "  about  "  His  Majes 
ty,"  and  concluded  that  it  would  be  useless 
to  say  a  word.  And  therefore  "Auntie" 
went  off,  leaving  Katie  alone,  seeking  the 
crown  of  Spain,  and  the  throne,  and  scep 


tre,  and  power,  might,  dominion,  pomp, 
splendor,  and  majesty — will-o'-the-wisps  all 
of  them,  my  beloved  readers,  in  search  of 
which  I'm  afraid  poor  "Auntie"  will  come 
to  grief. 

Dolores  led  the  way,  followed  thus  by 
"His  Majesty"  and  "  Auntie."  At  the  top 
they  came  to  the  stone  door-\vay,  which  was 
still  open.  This  Dolores  closed  carefully. 
Then  she  pressed  against  a  stone  which 
was  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  chamber. 
It  yielded,  and  opened  in  just  like  the  oth 
er.  Passing  through,  they  all  found  them 
selves  in  a  chamber  like  the  last,  only  it 
ran  in  a  different  direction.  Here  Dolores 
closed  this  door  as  carefully  as  before. 

From  this  chamber  another  passage-way 
led.  It  is  not  necessary  to  detail  here  the 
way  by  which  Dolores  led  them.  Suffice 
it  to  say  that  it  was  long,  tortuous,  and 
constantly  descending  by  means  of  many 
steps.  Several  stone  doors  had  to  be  open 
ed.  To  one  less  familiar  than  Dolores,  all 
passage  through  would  have  been  impos 
sible,  and  "His  Majesty"  came  to  the  con 
clusion  that  he  could  never  find  his  way 
back,  if  ever  he  wanted  to  come.  He  said 
as  much  to  Dolores. 

"  It's  easy  to  learn,"  said  she.  "  The  plan 
on  which  it  is  arranged  is  so  simple  that  a 
child  can  understand  it  when  once  it  is  ex 
plained  ;  but  you  never  could  find  it  out 
for  yourself." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  "  His  Majesty."  "  It's 
the  way  with  most  riddles." 

They  continued  on,  until  at  last  they 
came  to  a  place  at  which  Dolores,  after 
pushing  the  rock,  stood  and  listened. 
There  was  a  sound,  outside,  of  rushing 
water. 

Then,  pushing  at  the  rock  again,  it  open 
ed.  The  torch-light  shining  out  disclosed 
a  cavern,  at  the  mouth  of  which  this  pas 
sage-way  thus  opened.  A  brook  bubbled 
along  in  front.  Opposite  was  a  precipice. 
Above  was  the  sky,  where  the  moon  shone. 
They  were  at  the  bottom  of  the  deep  chasm. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

HOW    LOPEZ    AGAIN    MEETS   WITH    KATIE,    AND    HOW 
KATIE    SHOWS   NO    JOY   AT   HER   DELIVERANCE. 

KATIE  remained,  as  has  been  stated,  in 
the  lower  room,  which  had  been  Ashby's 
place  of  imprisonment.  She  was  not  long 
left  alone :  soon  she  heard  the  noise  of  foot 
steps.  There  was  nothing  in  this  sound 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


1-27 


to  alarm  lier,  however,  and  so  she  waited 
quite  calmly,  thinking  that  the  new-comer 
might  be  more  friendly  than  the  last,  and 
that  this  new  turn  of  affairs  might  improve 
her  position.  The  door  opened,  and  a  man 
entered  in  the  dress  of  an  officer,  while  be 
hind  him  there  were  visible  soldiers  in  the 
uniform  of  the  Spanish  army.  These  men 
carried  torches. 

The  first  corner  also  had  a  torch,  which 
he  held  high  above  his  head  as  he  stared 
about  and  peered  through  the  gloom.  At 
length  he  caught  sight  of  Katie,  and,  with 
a  cry  of  joy,  advanced  straight  toward  her. 
It  was  not  until  he  had  come  close  to  her 
that  Katie  was  able  to  recognize  Lopez. 

"  Why,  Captain  Lopez  1"  she  said,  in  ex 
cellent  Spanish;  for  her  Spanish  connec 
tions,  and  life  in  Spain,  had  made  her  as 
familiar  as  a  native  with  that  language. 
"I  never  was  so  amazed  in  my  life.  I 
never  heard  that  you  were  here;  why 
haven't  I  seen  you  before  ?" 

Lopez  paused  for  a  moment  in  surprise 
at  Katie's  words,  and  still  more  at  her 
manner. 

"I've  only  arrived  this  instant,"  said  he, 
"  and  I've  come  here  to  save  you  from  these 
brigands,  and  congratulate  you  and  myself 
on  my  good-fortune  in  finding  you.  The 
other  ladies  I  cannot  find.  I  hope,  seno- 
rita,  that  you  have  not  suffered  much  while 
here  a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  these  ruf 
fians  ?" 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Katie. 

"  This  room  is  not  fit  for  you,"  continued 
Lopez,  "  and  you  shall  at  once  be  removed 
to  a  more  comfortable  apartment." 

Such  a  proposal  as  this  was  by  no  means 
agreeable  to  Katie,  who  liked  the  idea  of 
the  secret  passage,  and  did  not  wish  to  go 
out  of  reach  of  it. 

"  Oh,  do  not  take  me  away  from  here !" 
said  she.  "  I  assure  you  I  prefer  this  room 
to'any  other.  In  fact,  I  am  quite  attached 
to  it." 

Lopez  laughed. 

"Really,"  said  he,  "I  had  no  idea  that  a 
prisoner  could  become  attached  to  such  a 
gloomy  dungeon  as  this.  Ah,  senorita,  you 
are  jesting.  I  assure  you,  however,  that 
there  are  better  rooms  than  this  in  the 
castle,  and  in  a  few  minutes  you  shall  be 
taken  to  one.  You  shall  also  be  provid 
ed  with  proper  attendants;  for  there  are 
women  about  the  castle  who  can  wait  on 
you." 

Lopez  was  so  earnest  and  determined 
9 


that  Katie  saw  plainly  the  uselessuess  of 
any  further  objections,  and  therefore  mur 
mured  a  few  civil  words  of  thanks. 

Lopez  looked  profoundly  disappointed. 
He  had  come  in  the  glory  of  a  conqueror — 
more,  of  a  deliverer  ;  to  free  Katie  from  the 
grasp  of  a  remorseless  tj'rant;  to  break  in 
pieces  her  chains ;  to  snatch  her  from  the 
jaws  of  death.  He  had  expected  to  see 
her  on  the  verge  of  despair ;  he  had  fully 
counted  on  being  received  by  her  in  wild 
and  eager  excitement,  almost  like  a  mes 
senger  from  Heaven.  It  was  upon  all  this 
that  he  had  counted,  as  he  had  toiled  to 
effect  her  rescue.  His  task  had  been  by  no 
means  light.  Fortune  had  favored  him, 
or  else  his  toil  would  all  have  been  un 
availing.  His  rescue  of  her  in  so  short  a 
time  was  therefore  very  near  the  miracu 
lous.  And  now  as  he  came  to  her,  after 
all  his  efforts,  after  all  this  brilliant  suc 
cess,  with  these  hopes  and  expectations, 
he  found  his  arrival  greeted  in  the  coolest 
manner,  and  treated  as  the  most  common 
place  thing  in  the  world.  More  than  this, 
instead  of  finding  Katie  languishing  in  her 
dungeon,  he  found  her  actually  unwilling 
to  leave  it,  and  pretending  that  she  had 
an  "  attachment  for  it."  Of  course,  all  this 
was  pretence  and  affectation,  yet  still  there 
was  something  underneath  which  Lopez 
could  not  quite  comprehend.  For  the  pres 
ent  he  could  only  conceal  his  deep  disap 
pointment  and  vexation  as  best  he  might, 
and  arrange  his  plans  for  the  future. 

After  retiring  for  a  few  minutes,  he  came 
back  with  a  woman.  This  was  one  of  the 
women  who  had  been  captured,  and  was 
now  allowed  to  remain  on  condition  of 
service,  the  particular  service  required  of 
her  being  merely  attendance  upon  Katie. 

Lopez  here  had  a  fresh  disappointment. 
He  had  seen  Katie's  solitary  state,  and 
thought  that  by  bringing  her  an  attendant 
he  would  give  her  pleasure.  But  to  Katie 
the  presence  of  any  attendant  was  exceed 
ingly  distasteful.  It  was  like  having  a  spy 
set  over  her.  It  was  bad  enough  to  be 
taken  away  from  within  reach  of  those  se 
cret  passages,  but  to  be  afflicted  with  this 
attendant  and  spy  was  too  much. 

Lopez  noticed  her  slight  frown  and  her 
downcast  look.  He  was  surprised  once 
more,  and  more  disappointed  than  ever. 

"And  now,  senorita,"  said  Lopez,  "  if  you 
are  quite  ready,  I  will  show  you  the  way 
to  the  new  room,  where  you  may  stay  so 
long  as  you  remain  here." 


1-23 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


"  Very  well,  senor  captain,"  said  Katie, 
quietly. 

"  If  you  have  any  luggage,  it  shall  be 
sent  up  to-morrow." 

"  Thanks,  senor." 

Upon  this  Captain  Lopez  went  out  with 
the  torch,  and  Katie,  with  her  attendant, 
followed.  She  noticed,  as  she  went,  that 
there  were  marks  of  great  confusion  in  the 
castle ;  some  men  were  bound,  others  lying 
wounded,  with  women  weeping  over  them; 
others  again,  in  the  Spanish  uniform,  were 
lolling  about,  drinking  and  carousing. 

Katie  followed  Lopez  up-stairs,  and  here 
in  the  upper  hall  there  were  the  same  signs 
as  below,  though  the  crowd  of  men  was  not 
so  great  nor  so  noisy.  Passing  through 
this,  they  came  to  a  third  stairway,  which 
ran  up  from  one  side  of  this  upper  hall 
and  led  into  a  passage-way  higher  still. 
Here  Lopez  opened  a  door,  and,  on  enter 
ing,  Katie  saw  a  room  which  was  smaller 
than  those  below.  One  or  two  mats  were 
on  the  stone  floor.  There  was  a  couch  at 
one  end  covered  with  skins,  and  at  the 
other  a  large  chest.  The  room  bore  marks 
of  having  been  recently  occupied,  and 
Katie  thought  that  perhaps  the  occupant 
had  been  "  His  Majesty." 

The  windows  here,  of  which  there  were 
several,  were  narrow  slits  like  those  below ; 
and  a  hasty  glance  showed  Katie  that  they 
looked  down  into  the  court -yard.  This, 
however,  gave  her  no  consolation.  It  was 
a  matter  of  indifference  now  where  she 
was.  Having  been  taken  away  from  the 
neighborhood  of  those  friendly  passage 
ways,  all  other  places  seemed  equally  ob 
jectionable.  Her  discontent  and  dejection 
were  evident  in  her  face,  though  she  made 
no  remark. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Lopez,  "  deeply  sorry 
that  I  have  nothing  better  than  this  room 
to  offer;  but  I  hope  that  before  long  we 
shall  be  able  to  leave  the  castle." 

Katie  did  not  hope  so,  and,  in  fact,  did 
not  know  whether  to  hope  so  or  not.  All 
would  depend  upon  circumstances.  And 
as  she  did  not  know  how  circumstances 
were,  and  was  not  willing  to  ask,  she  did 
not  know  what  to  say  now ;  so  she  simply 
said  the  very  non-committal  wrords, 

"  Thanks,  senor." 

Lopez  could  tell  pretty  well  why  she  said 
no  more  than  this.  It  was  because  she  felt 
dissatisfied  about  something  in  connection 
with  her  rescue — but  what  that  something 
was  he  could  not  conjecture.  That  was 


the  mystery  which  baffled  him.  However, 
he  had  sense  enough  to  see  that  his  own 
best  course  was  to  leave  her  to  her  own  de 
vices,  and  not  annoy  her  by  ill-timed  ques 
tions.  So  he  prepared  to  depart. 

"  Senorita,"  said  he,  "  this  woman  is  your 
attendant.  If  you  are  afraid  to  be  alone, 
she  will  sleep  in  the  room  with  you ;  but, 
if  you  prefer  it,  she  will  not." 

"  Oh,  I  should  so  very  much  prefer  being 
left  alone,  Captain  Lopez  !"  said  Katie,  hur 
riedly. 

Lopez  looked  surprised. 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  he ;  "  but  I  thought 
you  were  so  timid  that  you  would  prefer 
having  some  one." 

"  Oh  no— thanks  !  I'm  not  at  all  timid," 
said  Katie. 

This  was  a  new  surprise  to  Lopez,  who 
had  believed  Katie  to  be  the  most  timid 
young  lady  living.  But  he  said  nothing 
more.  He  merely  wished  her  good-night; 
and,  having  directed  the  attendant  to  leave, 
he  locked  the  door  after  him  and  went 
away,  a  deeply  disappointed  and  a  deeply 
meditating  man. 

Katie  sprang  to  the  door,  held  her  ear 
close,  and  listened  till  the  footsteps  had 
died  away.  Then  she  hurried  back.  Her 
quick  eye  had  noticed  the  fragment  of  a 
wax-candle  on  the  floor,  in  a  corner.  Some 
matches  were  lying  loosely  about,  which 
had  evidently  been  used  by  "His  Majesty" 
to  light  the  ro}7al  pipe.  With  one  of  these 
Katie  lighted  the  caudle,  and  surveyed  the 
apartment  once  more. 

There  was  a  fireplace  here,  deep,  but  not 
so  high  or  large  as  the  others  before  men 
tioned.  This  Katie  examined  first.  Alas  ! 
she  saw  nothing.  The  chimney  ran  straight 
up,  and  not  an  opening  appeared. 

After  this  she  retreated  dejectedly,  and 
examined  no  farther. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

IN   WHICH    THERE    SEEMS    SOME    CHANCE    OF   A   TRI 
ANGULAR  DUEL. 

HARRY  and  Ashby,  transformed  from 
bosom  friends  to  mortal  enemies,  now  oc 
cupied  the  same  room,  but  with  an  armed 
guard  to  prevent  further  intercourse.  Such 
intercourse  was,  however,  more  effectually 
prevented  by  something  far  more  powerful 
than  any  armed  guard — namely,  by  mutual 
hate,  and  by  the  consciousness  that  their 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


129 


hostile  meeting,  though  interrupted,  had 
not  been  terminated.  It  had  only  been 
deferred;  and  yet  again,  at  some  future 
time,  they  must  meet  and  settle  this  quar 
rel.  Even  this  prospect,  however,  impor 
tant  though  it  was,  did  not  by  any  means 
form  the  most  important  part  of  their 
thoughts  as  they  stood  thus  apart  absorb 
ed  in  themselves.  Each  one  turned  his 
thoughts  rather  to  the  events  which  had 
last  occupied  him  before  they  had  encoun 
tered  one  another ;  and  so,  while  Harry 
wandered  in  fancy  back  to  Katie's  room, 
Ashby  was  taken  up  with  tender  reminis 
cences  of  Dolores. 

In  the  midst  of  such  sentimental  medita 
tions,  they  were  startled  by  the  sudden  out 
burst  of  that  loud  alarm  and  wild  tumult 
already  mentioned.  In  an  instant  they 
both  were  roused  out  of  their  abstraction, 
and  brought  back  to  the  stern  realities  of 
life.  The  guard,  too,  were  roused,  and, 
springing  to  their  feet,  they  stood  waiting 
for  orders.  But  after  a  few  minutes  the 
uproar  became  so  tremendous  that  the  po 
sition  of  the  guards  grew  unendurable, 
and  they  went  to  the  door  and  tried  to 
open  it.  This  they  could  not  do,  for  it 
was  fastened  on  the  outside,  so  that  de 
parture  from  the  room  by  that  way  was 
not  possible ;  yet  the  sounds  which  came 
to  their  ears  were  sufficient  to  inform  them 
of  the  whole  truth,  and  tell  them  that  the 
castle  had  been  surprised  by  an  attacking 
party,  which  was  evidently  victorious. 

-The  longer  they  listened  the  plainer  did 
this  become,  and  from  this  there  arose  the 
inevitable  conclusion  that  they — that  is, 
the  Carlist  guard — were  prisoners.  Upon 
this,  restiveness  and  uneasiness  began  to 
be  visible  among  them,  and  a  dread  of 
their  coining  doom  from  the  hands  of  mer 
ciless  enemies  quite  demoralized  them. 
They  exchanged  looks  of  terror;  they 
looked  wildly  around  to  see  if  there  were 
any  chances  of  escape;  but  to  their  eyes 
the  stone  walls,  the  stone  floor,  the  narrow 
windows,  and  the  vaulted  roof  oifered  not 
a  chance  of  escape,  or  even  of  a  partial  con 
cealment. 

As  for  Harry  and  Ashby,  they  passed  in 
one  instant  from  depths  of  despair  to  the 
highest  hope.  They  recognized  the  shouts 
and  the  watchword  of  the  Republic,  and 
felt  that  in  the  hands  of  the  soldiers  of  the 
government  they  would  be  safe. 

Suddenly  the  door  was  opened.  Out 
side  were  armed  men  with  blazing  torches, 


from  among  whom  there  advanced  into 
the  room  an  officer. 

The  Carlists  were  immediately  disarmed, 
and  their  arms  taken  outside.  But  the  of 
ficer  took  no  notice  of  them.  His  eyes, 
searching  on  every  side,  soon  perceived 
Harry  and  Ashby,  who  had  drawn  near. 

"  Senor  captain,"  said  Harry,  "I  rejoice 
that  you  have  come  to  save  us  from  cap 
tivity  and  death.  We  have  been  here  as 
prisoners  for  two  or  three  days,  and  an  im 
mense  ransom  was  exacted  from  us,  which 
we  could  not  pajr.  Had  you  not  come,  we 
should  undoubtedly  have  been  shot." 

Ashby  said  not  a  word.  He  had  recog 
nized  Lopez  at  a  glance,  and  dreaded  the 
worst  from  this  vengeful  enemy. 

Lopez  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  Ashby  as 
he  spoke,  though  he  addressed  Harry. 

"Senors,"  said  he,  "I  am  glad  that  I 
have  come  in  time  to  avert  so  horrible  a 
crime.  You,  senor,"  he  continued,  address 
ing  Harry,  "  may  retire :  you  are  free.  You 
will  be  respected  and  protected  by  my  fol 
lowers,  and  may  either  go,  or  remain  till 
our  return  to  Vittoria.  As  for  Senor  Ash- 
by,  I  wish  to  have  a  brief  conversation 
with  him." 

At  this  Harry  bowed,  and  with  some 
further  expression  of  gratitude  went  out  of 
the  room  a  free  man,  his  heart  swelling 
with  exultation  and  joy  and  hope. 

"  Senor  Ashby,"  said  Lopez,  "  we  have 
met  again." 

Ashby  bowed. 

"  Senor  Ashby,"  continued  Lopez,  "  in 
sults  have  been  given  and  received  on  both 
sides,  and  we  are  already  under  engage 
ments  to  have  a  hostile  meeting.  Is  it  not 
so?" 

Ashby  bowed  again. 

Lopez  had  spoken  these  words  in  a  low 
tone,  which  was  inaudible  to  his  men.  He 
now  turned  and  ordered  them  to  withdraw, 
and  stand  outside  until  further  orders. 

They  obeyed. 

"  Senor  Ashby,"  he  continued,  "  the  lady 
is  here  for  whom  we  both  are  seeking.  It 
was  about  her  that  our  quarrel  arose." 

"  I  am  ready  now,"  said  Ashby. 

"  For  the  quarrel  ?"  said  Lopez.  "  Ay — 
but  I  am  not ;"  and  he  gave  a  bitter  laugh. 

"A  man  of  honor,"  said  Ashby,  scornful 
ly,  "  will  always  be  ready." 

Lopez  again  gave  a  bitter  laugh. 

"  Dear  senor,"  said  he,  "  I  have  had  too 
many  affairs  to  be  afraid  of  risking  my  rep 
utation  as  a  man  of  honor  by  postponing 


130 


A  CASTLE  IX  SPAIN. 


our  little  meeting.  I  have  other  things 
to  attend  to  first.  And  first  I  must  have 
a  little  leisure  to  get  rid  of  that  bitterness 
and  gall  -which  you,  senor,  with  your  Eng 
lish  superciliousness,  have  poured  into  my 
heart.  For  a  time  you  had  your  hour  of 
triumph,  and  I  was  made  to  feel  by  you  all 
the  insolent  superiority  of  a  man  of  wealth 
over  a  man  of  the  people.  But  now,  senor, 
our  positions  have  changed.  I  have  the 
power,  and  you  are  nothing.  Even  your 
wealth  will  not  save  you ;  for  while  you 
are  my  prisoner  all  the  gold  of  Mexico 
will  be  unavailing  to  deliver  you  until  I 
choose." 

Ashby  had  now  a  sudden  thought  that 
his  position  was  very  peculiar  and  very  un 
enviable.  He  had  just  quarrelled  with  his 
best  friend,  and  had  just  been  saved  from 
murdering  him,  for  the  sake  of  a  girl  whom 
he  had  ceased  to  love  (or  whom  he  be 
lieved  he  had  ceased  to  love,  which  was 
the  same  thing  just  then) ;  and  now  here 
was  another  of  Katie's  numerous  lovers, 
full  of  love  and  jealousy  —  the  one  as 
strong  as  death,  the  other  as  cruel  as  the 
grave ;  which  lover  was  evidently  now  re 
garding  him  as  a  tiger  regards  his  help 
less  victim,  and  was  playing  with  him  for 
a  time,  so  as  to  enjoy  his  torments  before 
devouring  him.  These  thoughts  passed 
through  his  mind,  and  he  had  nothing  to 
say. 

"  Senor,"  said  Lopez,  "  our  quarrel  was 
about  that  young  lady,  and  our  meet 
ing  may  take  place  at  any  time.  For  the 
present,  I  have  to  say  that  if  you  will  con 
sent  to  give  up  all  claim  to  her  hand  and 
leave  the  castle,  I  wrill  send  you  at  once 
with  a  sufficient  guard  to  any  place  you 
name,  or  to  the  nearest  station.  But  if 
not,  then  I  shall  be  under  the  painful  ne 
cessity  of  detaining  you." 

"  May  I  ask,"  said  Ashby,  "  upon  what 
ground  you  propose  to  detain  me  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  said  Lopez.  "  I  arrest  you 
as  a  spy." 

"  A  spy  !" 

"  Certainly.  What  are  you  doing  here  ? 
You  were  seized  by  the  Carlists,  it  is  true, 
but  what  of  that?  You  may  have  be 
trayed  your  party  to  them.  I  find  you 
coming  North  on  no  good  or  reasonable 
errand.  You  certainly  were  following  that 
party — as  a  spy,  or  something  like  it  —  in 
your  private  interests.  I  am  therefore  at 
liberty  to  arrest  you  as  a  spy,  perhaps  in 
league  with  the  enemies  of  Spain.  It  is  a 


charge  of  which  I  can  prove  you  guilty, 
and  for  which  you  will  be  shot." 

"  And  that  is  a  gentleman's  satisfac 
tion  !"  said  Ashby,  with  a  sneer. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Lopez,  "  obtain  satis 
faction  in  many  ways.  It  will  give  me 
no  small  satisfaction,  for  instance,  to  know 
that  you  are  here  while  I  urge  my  suit  for 
the  young  lady's  hand,  for  which  I  have 
the  good  wishes  and  co-operation  of  her 
guardian.  It  will  give  me  no  small  satis 
faction  to  inform  you  when,  as  she  surely 
will,  she  grants  me  her  consent ;  and,  final 
ly,  the  highest  satisfaction  of  all  will  be 
afforded  when  I  request  your  presence  at 
our  wedding — a  compliment  which,  I  am 
sure,  senor,  you  will  appreciate.  For, 
senor,  we  shall  be  married  here,  and  im 
mediately,  since  I  have  brought  a  priest 
writh  me,  so  as  to  put  the  whole  matter  be 
yond  the  reach  of  accident." 

Having  fired  off  this  heavy  shot,  Lopez 
watched  to  see  the  effect  upon  his  vic 
tim. 

Ashby  showed  not  the  slightest  emotion. 
Neither  in  face  nor  in  gesture  did  he  evince 
any  agitation  whatever;  nor  in  his  voice, 
for  he  said,  in  a  perfectly  cool  and  indiffer 
ent  way, 

"  Very  well,  senor.  I  can  do  nothing 
against  all  that." 

Lopez  felt  disappointed.  He  had  ex 
pected  to  see  agonies  depicted  on  his  help 
less  victim,  and  to  exult  in  the  sight.  But 
he  concluded  that  this  was  owing  to  Ash- 
by's  "  English  phlegm,"  and  that  he  was 
thus  preserving,  like  the  Indian  at  the 
stake,  a  proudly  calm  exterior,  while  really 
suffering  torments  of  hidden  pain. 

"  Since  you  are  so  calm,"  said  Lopez 
again,  "perhaps  you  will  consent  to  pur 
chase  your  freedom  by  formally  relinquish 
ing  all  claim  to  that  young  lady's  hand. 
That  is  the  shortest  way  of  regaining  your 
liberty,  and  it  will  be  quite  satisfactory 
to  rue." 

Lopez  spoke  this  in  an  ironical  tone, 
taunting  Ashby  thus  on  his  cool  demeanor. 

Now,  the  giving  up  of  all  claims  to  Ka 
tie  was  in  itself  so  far  from  being  repug 
nant  to  Ashby,  that,  as  the  reader  knows, 
he  had  already  virtually  renounced  her, 
and  formally,  too,  by  word  of  mouth  to 
Dolores.  But  to  do  this  to  Lopez  was  a 
far  different  thing.  It  would,  he  felt,  be 
base ;  it  would  be  cowardly ;  it  would  be 
a  vile  piece  of  truckling  to  an  enemy,  who 
would  exult  over  it  to  the  end  of  his  days. 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


131 


The  idea  could  not  be  entertained  for  a 
moment. 

"  Senor."  said  Ashby,  with  his  usual  cool 
ness,  "  you  are  well  aware  that,  apart  from 
all  other  considerations,  your  proposition 
could  not  be  entertained  for  a  moment  by 
a  man  of  honor." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  Lopez ;  "  but  I  had 
to  make  mention  of  it,  merely  as  a  form, 
and  not  supposing  that  you  would  enter 
tain  it." 

"I  am  in  the  hands  of  fortune,"  said 
Ashby:  "I'll  take  my  chances  as  they 
come." 

Upon  this  Lopez  said  nothing  more,  but, 
with  a  formal  adieu,  took  his  departure. 
Ashby  was  left  with  the  six  unarmed  Car- 
list  prisoners. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

HOW    THE    UNHAPPY    RUSSELL    FINDS    THE    DANGER 
OP   PLAYING   AVITII   EDGE-TOOLS. 

WHEN  Lopez,  with  the  assistance  of  Rita, 
had  burst  into  the  castle,  he  had  left  his 
prisoners  in  the  tower  in  the  charge  of 
a  couple  of  guards,  these  prisoners  being 
Brooke,  Talbot,  and  Russell.  During  the 
attack  on  the  castle  there  was  a  time  in 
which  Russell  might  very  easily  have  es 
caped.  The  two  guards  were  eager  to  join 
the  melee,  and  as  their  instructions  had 
reference  principally  to  Brooke  and  Talbot, 
they  paid  no  attention  whatever  to  the 
"  Hungarian  lady."  They  knew  that  Rita 
had  clone  an  act  for  which  the  captain 
would  reward  her,  and  concluded  that  the 
'•  Hungarian  lady"  was  a  friend  rather  than 
a  prisoner.  Under  such  circumstances  es 
cape  would  have  been  easy  enough  to  Rus 
sell,  had  he  been  bold  enough  to  attempt 
it. 

Yet,  after  all,  how  could  he  really  es 
cape  ?  To  go  back  over  the  same  road 
would  be  only  to  encounter  fresh  perils, 
perhaps  worse  than  any  with  which  he 
had  met  hitherto.  To  go  in  any  other  di 
rection  would  be  simple  madness.  There 
was,  therefore,  no  other  course  open  to  him 
than  to  remain  where  he  was. 

After  a  long  time  some  of  the  men  came 
back,  at  the  command  of  Lopez,  with  orders 
to  bring  the  prisoners  into  the  castle.  The 
guard  obeyed  and  followed,  taking  with 
them  Brooke  and  Talbot.  Russell  was 
about  to  accompany  them,  and  was  just 


hesitating  as  to  the  path,  when  suddenly 
he  found  himself  confronted  by  Rita,  who 
had  just  come  up. 

"  H-s-s-s-sh  !"  she  said.  "  All  is  safe.  I 
haf  my  reward.  The  captain  haf  pay  me. 
Now  we  shall  go.  Alia  right.  Come !" 

Russell  felt  a  strange  sinking  of  heart. 
As  to  going  away  with  her,  that  was  not 
to  be  thought  of,  and  he  only  sought  now 
for  some  plausible  excuse. 

"  I — I'm  too  tired,"  he  said ;  "  I'm  worn 
out,  Rita.  I  cannot  walk." 

"Bah!"  said  she.  "Come  — you  shall 
not  go  far :  I  take  you  to  where  you  shall 
restar." 

"  But  I'm  tired,"  said  Russell.  "  I  want 
to  rest  here." 

"  Bah !  you  not  too  tired  to  go  one  two 
mile ;  that  not  mooch  to  go.  Come  !" 

"  I  can't,"  whined  Russell. 

"  But  you  will  be  captar — you  shall  be  a 
preesonaire — you  shall  be  deescovaire — alia 
found  out  by  the  capitan;  so  come  —  fly, 
you  haf  no  time  to  lose." 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  said  Russell,  in  despair. 
"If  I'm  caught  again  I  don't  care.  I'm 
worn  out." 

"  But  you  moos !" 

"  I  can't." 

"  Come— I  shall  carry  you ;  I  shall  lifta 
you,  and  carry  you  to  your  safetydom. 
Come !" 

"It's  impossible,"  said  Russell,  who,  in 
addition  to  his  fear,  began  to  feel  vexation 
at  this  woman's  pertinacity. 

There  was  something  in  his  tone  which 
made  Rita  pause.  She  stood  erect,  folded 
her  arms,  and  looked  at  him.  The  moon 
light  fell  on  both.  Each  could  see  the 
other.  Russell  did  not  feel  pleased  with 
her  appearance.  She  looked  too  hard— 
too  austere.  She  seemed  to  have  an  un 
limited  possibility  of  daring  and  of  ven 
geance.  He  began  to  think  that  he  had 
been  playing  with  edge-tools,  and  that  in 
trying  to  make  use  of  Rita  he  had  only 
gained  a  new  master  for  himself.  The 
vague  fears  which  had  been  gathering 
through  the  day  now  grew  stronger,  and 
he  realized  his  full  danger. 

"  You  not  want  to  fly  ?  You  not  want  to 
'scape  ?"  said  Rita,  with  a  frown. 

Russell  thought  it  best  to  own  up. 

"  Well,  n-n-no,"  said  he.  "  On  the  whole, 
I  do  not." 

"  Why  ?"  asked  Rita,  in  a  hard  voice. 

"  Oh  —  well  —  I've — I've  —  I've  changed 
my  mind,"  said  Russell,  in  a  trembling 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


voice.     He  began  to  be  more  afraid  of  Rita 
than  ever. 

"Ah !"  said  Rita.  "  It  is  so— very  well. 
Now  leest'n  to  me ;  look  at  me.  What 
haf  I  done  ?  I  haf  betray  my  maestro  —  I 
haf  betray  my  friends  :  this  castle  is  took ; 
my  friends  are  run  away,  many  of  them 
dead;  their  bodies  are  over  there  —  they 
are  dead.  Who  kill  them  ?  I— I  the  traid- 
or !  I  the  Judas !  I  betray !  And  why  ? 
I  betray — because  you  tempt  me !  Do  you 
know  that?  You  tempt  me!  You  ask 
me  to  helpa  you !  you  promise  me  all  the 
world !  I  helpa  you !  I  make  mysef  a 
traidor,  and  now  it  haf  come  to  this  ! 

"  Where  are  my  friends  ?"  continued 
Rita.  "  Gone !  fled !  dead !  They  sail  haunt 
me — their  ghosts — they  sail  call  for  ven- 
ganza ;  and  I  haf  make  mysef  a  traidor  to 
the  friends  that  lofe  me  an'  was  kind! 
See  me,  what  I  am  !  You  haf  make  me  to 
this  —  you!  you!  you!  What!  do  you 
think  I  sail  let  you  turn  false  to  me  ?  No  ! 
nevaire !  You  sail  be  true  to  me — what- 
evaire !  You  haf  promis  to  gif  me  all  the 
world.  You  haf  promis  to  gif  me  you'- 
selfa.  You  sail  be  what  you  say  —  'my 
man  !'  I  sail  haf  the  recompensa,  if  I  die 
from  remordimiento.  If  you  be  a  traidor 
to  me,  I  sail  haf  the  venganza  !" 

During  this  wild  harangue  Rita  seemed 
transported  to  fury  —  she  seemed  a  mad 
woman.  Russell  trembled  in  every  limb 
from  sheer  terror.  He  never  had  in  all  his 
life  seen  anything  like  this.  His  only  hope 
now  was  to  escape  from  her  insane  rage, 
no  matter  under  whose  protection. 

At  length  she  stopped  and  grew  calmer. 
Then  she  said,  in  a  low,  stern  voice  : 

"  Now— will  you  come  ?    W^ill  you  fly  ?" 

Russell  shuddered  more  than  ever.  Fly  ? 
Not  he !  She  might  tear  him  to  pieces,  but 
he  would  never  fly  with  her.  Fly  ?  Why, 
it  was  impossible  !  He  might,  indeed,  fly 
from  her;  but  as  to  flying  witli  her,  that 
could  not  be  thought  of. 

He  shrunk  back,  trembling  in  every  limb. 

"I  can't,"  he  said  —  "I  can't;  I'm  too 
weak — I'm  old — and  weak  and  worn  out." 

"  But  I  say,"  continued  Rita,  impatient 
ly,  "  that  I  sail  take  you  to  a  place  where 
you  sail  re  star." 

UI  can't,"  said  Russell. 

"Do  you  intendar  to  keep  you  prom- 
eese  ?" 

"  What  promise  ?"  said  Russell,  hesitat 
ingly. 

"  To  marry  me,"  said  Rita,  coldly. 


"  Marry  you  !  I  never  said  that,"  replied 
Russell. 

"You  did." 

"  I  did  not.  I  have  a  wife  living — you 
know  that  surely.  She  is  in  the  castle." 

"She?  Bah!  She  is  dead.  I  know 
that,"  said  Rita,  triumphantly. 

Russell  shuddered  more  than  ever.  Dead  ! 
dead !  lie  thought.  What  a  thought  of 
horror!  And  how?  Was  it  this  woman 
that  did  the  deed — this  fiend  from  the 
robbers'  hold  —  to  make  room  for  herself? 
Russell  felt  that  she  was  capable  of  any 
normity,  and  his  soul  sickened  at  the 
thought.  He  groaned,  and  was  silent. 

"  Dead,  I  tell  you  !  dead  !  She  is  dead  ! 
Aha !  you  think  me  fool,  simple,  aha  !  But 
I  know,  I  know  to  take  car'  of  the  number 
one  !  Aha !  how  you  like  that,  meestaire  ? 

"And  now  leest'n,"  continued  Rita.  "  You 
not  fly  ?  Very  well.  You  sail  come  to  the 
castle.  You  sail  stay  with  the  capitan. 
You  sail  tell  him  all— I  tell  him  all.  He 
sail  judge  and  decidar.  Come !  come ! 
You  sail  not  stay  here.  You  sail  go  and 
restar  you  old  bone." 

Rita  motioned  to  him  sternly  to  follow, 
and  Russell  obeyed.  He  was  not  at  all 
disinclined  to  move  in  this  direction,  since 
it  led  him  to  the  friendly  protection  of  the 
castle.  It  was  with  uncommon  vigor  and 
nimbleness  that  he  followed  his  tormentor 
down  the  steep  side,  and  across  the  brook 
at  the  bottom,  and  up  the  other  side.  Rita 
noticed  this,  and  said,  scornfully  : 

"  You  too  weak  to  go  one  two  mile  on  the 
level  groun',  but  you  strong  enough  to  de- 
scenclar  and  ascendar  these  cliff.  But  wait, 
ola  man — remember  if  you  falsami  I  sail  haf 
my  venganza.  Now  you  go  and  spik  to 
the  capitan,  and  you  see  what  he  sail  do  for 
you." 

Rita  said  no  more,  but  led  Russell  along 
until  they  reached  the  castle.  There  Rus 
sell  seated  himself  on  the  stone  floor  among 
the  soldiers,  feeling  safer  here  than  any 
where,  while  Rita  went  away.  Russell 
supposed  that  she  had  gone  in  search  of 
Lopez  to  tell  her  own  story  first. 

He  was  right.  Lopez  had  been  very 
busy,  but  Rita  was  able,  after  all,  to  obtain 
a  hearing  from  him  sufficiently  long  to  en 
able  her  to  plead  her  cause  in  her  own 
way.  She  told  Lopez  all. 

Now  Lopez  was  under  great  obligations 
to  Rita,  and  was  willing  to  do  almost  any 
thing  for  her.  At  the  same  time,  he  was 
the  bitter  enemy  of  Russell.  Here  there 


A  CASTLE  IN   SPAIN. 


133 


was  an  opportunity  open  to  him  to  evince 
gratitude  and  to  obtain  vengeance.  He 
appreciated  the  situation  most  fully.  He 
promised  Rita  that  he  would  do  whatever 
she  wished. 

"  I  only  wish  one  thing,"  said  Rita : 
"  make  him  keep  his  promise." 

"  I  will,"  said  Lopez. 

"  Will  you  make  him  marry  me  ?" 

"  I  will,"  said  Lopez.  "  I  have  a  priest 
here.  I  have  brought  him  here,  for  I  ex 
pect  to  be  married  myself  to  a  lady  whom 
I  have  long  loved  in  vain.  I  have  rescued 
her  from  these  foul  brigands,  and  she  will 
not  now  refuse  me.  And  I  promise,  Rita, 
that  you  shall  be  married  to  your  dear  one 
at  the  same  time  that  I  am  married  to 
mine,  and  by  the  same  priest." 

Upon  this  Rita  was  voluble  in  the  ex 
pression  of  her  gratitude. 

Lopez  now  went  to  seek  out  Russell.  He 
found  the  good  man  wearied  and  worn  out. 
He  led  him  away  to  a  room  that  happened 
to  be  the  very  one  in  which  he  was  con 
fined  before.  Brooke  and  Talbot  were  both 
here.  Russell  entreated  Brooke  to  inter 
cede  for  him  with  Lopez.  Lopez  saw  the 
action  and  understood  it. 

"  What  does  he  want  ?"  said  Lopez. 

Russell  then  explained,  through  Brooke, 
what  Lopez  had  already  learned  through 
Rita,  namely,  that  he  was  Mr.  Russell,  and 
that  Rita  was  claiming  his  fulfilment  of  a 
promise  which  he  had  never  made,  and 
could  never  fulfil — first,  on  the  ground  that 
Rita  had  not  freed  him ;  and,  secondly,  on 
the  more  important  ground  that  he  was  al 
ready  married. 

To  all  this  the  answer  of  Lopez  was  brief 
and  stern. 

"  She  did  free  you,"  said  he,  "  for  you  are 
now  out  of  the  power  of  the  Carlists,  and 
may  be  your  own  master  on  the  perform 
ance  of  your  promise.  Moreover,  as  to 
your  being  married  already,  Rita  assures 
me  that  your  former  wife  is  dead. " 

At  this  Russell  groaned. 

"  She  is  not  dead,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Lopez,  "  I  don't  care. 
Rita  is  willing  to  run  the  risk." 

Russell  now  pleaded  for  Katie's  sake. 

But  this  roused  Lopez  to  worse  anger. 

"  If  you  were  merely  a  cruel  father,"  said 
he,  " I  would  forgive  you  for  her  sake;  but 
you  are  a  guardian,  and  not  over-honest,  as 
I  believe.  She  has  no  love  for  you.  She 
never  wishes  to  see  you  again.  Nor  do  I. 
You  are  nothing  to  her.  She  is  nothing  to 


you.  You  have  made  your  bed,  and  must 
lie  on  it.  You  must  blame  yourself,  and 
not  me." 

With  these  words  Lopez  retired,  leaving 
the  unhappy  Russell  in  a  condition  that 
may  be  better  imagined  than  described. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

IN     WHICH     DOLORES     REAPPEARS     IX    THE     ACT     OF 
MAKING   A  RECONNOITRE. 

HARRY  had  already  been  set  free,  but 
Ashby  was  held  as  a  prisoner.  At  first  he 
remained  in  the  room  where  Lopez  had 
found  him,  along  with  the  Carlist  guard, 
but  after  a  few  hours  he  was  removed  to 
another  chamber.  This  was  chiefly  to  pre 
vent  any  possible  attempt  at  escape  which 
Ashby  might  make  with  the  assistance  of 
the  other  prisoners,  who,  knowing  the  weak 
points  of  the  castle,  might  be  able,  with  a 
bold  leader,  to  strike  an  effective  blow  for 
liberty. 

The  moonbeams  now  wTere  streaming  in 
upon  the  stone  floor  where  the  six  Carlist 
prisoners  were  lying.  They  were  sound 
asleep,  and  their  deep  breathing  was  the 
only  sound  that  might  be  heard.  Two  of 
them  were  in  the  bed,  the  other  four  were 
on  the  floor.  But  these  men  were  used  to 
roughing  it,  and  on  the  flinty  pavement 
they  slept  as  soundly  as  on  a  bed  of  down. 

Suddenly,  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
chimney,  there  was  a  slight  noise. 

No  one  in  the  room  heard  it,  for  they 
were  all  sleeping  too  soundly. 

The  noise  ceased  for  a  time  ;  then  it  was 
renewed.  It  was  a  rustling,  sliding  sound, 
as  of  some  living  thing  moving  there. 

After  this  the  noise  ceased. 

There  was  another  long  pause. 

Then  came  a  whisper  — 


No  one  heard.  The  sleepers  were  all  far 
away  in  the  land  of  dreams. 

The  whisper  was  repeated  : 

"Assebi!" 

There  was  no  answer.  Nor  did  any  of 
the  sleepers  awake.  Out  of  such  a  sound 
sleep  nothing  could  awaken  them  that  was 
of  the  nature  of  a  mere  whisper. 

Of  course  this  moving  body  was  our 
friend  Dolores.  There  is  no  need  to  make 
a  mystery  of  it.  She  alone  now  had  access 
to  this  room;  she  alone  would  come  here. 
She  alone,  having  come  here,  would  utter 
that  one  word, 


134 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


It  was  Dolores. 

She  had  come  back  to  this  room  to  seek 
after  Ashby,  to  see  him;  if  not,  then  to 
hear  of  him,  and,  if  possible,  to  help  him. 

After  assisting  "His  Majesty"  to  effect 
his  royal  escape,  Dolores  had  thought  for  a 
few  moments  of  surrendering  herself.  Af 
ter  further  thought,  however,  she  had  con 
cluded  not  to.  She  saw  that  nothing  could 
be  gained,  and  much  might  be  risked  by 
such  an  act.  The  knowledge  which  she 
had  of  all  the  interior  of  the  castle  gave 
her  an  immense  advantage  so  long  as  she 
was  free;  and  until  she  saw  how  things 
were  it  would  be  better  for  her  to  remain 
free.  There  would  be  great  danger  in  con- 
tiding  too  readily.  She  knew  that  the  Re 
publicans  were  no  better  than  the  Carlists, 
and  perhaps  these  were  merely  a  rival  band 
of  the  same  ferocious  marauders.  Ashby, 
being  a  foreigner,  was  perhaps  in  as  great 
danger  as  ever;  and  if  so,  she  should  pre 
serve  her  freedom,  so  as  to  be  able  to  help 
him. 

This  was  a  very  sensible  decision ;  but  as 
Dolores  was  a  very  sensible  girl,  and  a  very 
brave  one  too,  it  was  only  natural  that  she 
should  have  decided  in  this  way. 

After  waiting  until  the  noise  in  the  cas 
tle  had  ceased,  Dolores  approached  the 
room  and  reached  the  place  of  descent. 
Here  she  waited  and  listened. 

She  heard  the  deep  breathing  of  the 
sleepers.  By  this  she  knew  that  several 
men  were  now  in  the  room. 

But  was  Ashby  there  ? 

She  could  not  tell. 

That  he  was  not  asleep  she  felt  sure.  He 
would  be  expecting  her,  at  any  rate ;  and 
that  would  serve  to  keep  him  awake. 

She  determined  to  try  still  further.  So 
she  began,  as  cautiously  as  possible,  to 
make  the  descent.  She  succeeded  in  doing 
this  without  awaking  any  of  the  sleepers. 
For  a  while  she  stood  in  the  deep,  impen 
etrable  shadow  and  surveyed  the  apart 
ment.  She  saw,  where  the  moonbeams  fell, 
the  cratline  of  figures  on  the  floor  and  on 
the  bed.  The  remoter  parts  of  the  cham 
ber  were  hid  in  gloom. 

Then  she  called,  in  a  low  and  penetrating 
whisper, 

"  Assebi  !w 

There  was  no  answer. 

Dolores  now  felt  sure  that  Ashby  was 
not  there ;  but  in  order  to  make  assurance 
doubly  sure,  she  repeated  the  call. 


There  was  still  no  answer;  and  now  Do« 
lores  felt  certain  that  he  had  been  taken 
away. 

Once  more  she  determined  to  satisfy  her 
self  as  to  the  people  who  were  in  the  room. 
It  was  a  hazardous  thing  to  do,  but  it  had 
to  be  done.  She  must  see.  She  had  match 
es  in  her  pocket.  She  resolved  to  throw  a 
little  light  on  the  subject. 

She  struck  a  match.  The  flame  burst 
forth.  Holding  it  above  her  head,  Dolores 
peered  into  the  room.  The  flame  illumined 
the  whole  apartment.  A  second  or  two 
was  enough  to  show  her  the  whole.  There 
were  six  men.  They  were  Carlists.  They 
were  prisoners.  Ashby  had  been  taken 
away. 

So  much  was  plain  enough. 

Ashby  was  not  there.  He  had  been  re 
moved — but  how  ?  That  was-  the  question, 
and  a  most  important  one.  Was  he  free, 
or  was  he  still  a  prisoner  ?  This  must  be 
ascertained  before  Dolores  could  decide 
anything.  It  was  not  a  question  to  be  de 
cided  by  mere  conjecture.  It  was  certain 
ly  possible  that  the  captors  of  the  castle, 
finding  these  prisoners  held  captive  by  the 
Carlists,  had  released  them  all ;  and  if  so, 
it  was  all  very  well ;  but  Dolores  knew  the 
suspicious  nature  of  her  countrymen,  and 
felt  very  much  inclined  to  doubt  whether 
they  had  set  the  prisoners  free  upon  the 
spot.  They  were  foreigners,  and  she  knew 
that  Spaniards  of  every  party  would  con 
sider  that  a  sufficient  excuse  for  detaining 
them. 

The  only  way  in  which  she  could  satisfy 
her  curiosity  and  decide  upon  her  own 
future  course  was  by  communicating  with 
these  Carlist  prisoners,  and  learning  the 
truth  from  them. 

But  how  ? 

They  were  sleeping  so  soundly  that 
something  louder  far  than  any  ordinary 
cry  would  be  needed  to  reach  their  ears. 
To  call  to  them  would,  therefore,  be  useless. 
Some  other  way  would  have  to  be  adopt 
ed.  But  in  what  way  ?  That  was  the  ques 
tion  that  Dolores  had  now  to  answer. 
There  was  only  one  way.  A  risk  must  be 
run.  It  could  not  be  helped.  She  would 
have  to  rouse  them,  and  the  most  effective 
way,  as  well  as  the  one  most  inaudible  to 
those  without,  would  be  to  venture  into  the 
room  and  rouse  them  in  some  way  by  touch. 

A  rapid  view  of  all  the  risks  of  the  case 
made  her  resolve  to  encounter  them.  She 
felt  able  to  awake  the  sleepers  without  be- 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


135 


ing  discovered,  and  quickly  made  up  her 
mind. 

Gliding  swiftly  and  noiselessly  to  the 
nearest  sleeper,  Dolores  caught  his  hair, 
and  giving  it  a  sudden,  violent  pull,  she 
darted  back  as  quickly,  before  she  could 
be  discovered. 

It  was  effectual. 

The  sleeper  started  up  with  a  violent 
oath,  and  began  abusing  his  comrade.  This 
one  also  awaked,  and  a  fierce  altercation 
went  on  between  them,  wherein  the  one 
charged  the  other  with  pulling  his  hair, 
and  the  other  denied  it  with  oaths.  In  the 
midst  of  this  Dolores  had  ascended  into  the 
passage-way,  and  stood  there  waiting  for 
a  chance  to  be  heard.  At  length  the  noise 
subsided,  and  the  two  began  to  settle 
themselves  for  sleep,  when  Dolores,  seizing 
the  opportunity,  called  out,  in  a  low  but 
clear  and  distinct  voice, 

"  Viva  el  Key  !" 

The  Carlists  heard  it. 

"What's  that?"  cried  one. 

"Some  one's  in  the  room-,"  cried  the 
other. 

"  Viva  el  Hey  !"  said  Dolores  once  more, 
in  the  same  tone. 

At  this  the  two  men  started  to  their  feet. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?"  said  one,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  A  friend,"  said  Dolores. 

"  Where  ?"  asked  the  man,  in  surprise. 

"  Come  to  the  chimney,"  said  Dolores. 

The  two  men  went  there,  till  they  reach 
ed  the  fireplace. 

"  Where  are  you  ?"  asked  they. 

Dolores  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  tell 
them  the  truth  just  yet. 

"  I'm  in  the  room  above,"  said  she.  "  I'm 
speaking  through  an  opening  in  the  flue. 
I  can  help  you,  if  you  will  be  cautious  and 
patient." 

"  WTho  are  you  ?" 

"A  prisoner.  I  know  the  way  out.  I 
can  help  you.  Be  cautious.  Is  the  Eng 
lish  prisoner  with  you  ?" 

"  No,"  said  the  Carlist,  wondering  what 
sort  of  a  prisoner  this  could  be,  and  why 
this  prisoner  asked  after  the  Englishman. 

Dolores  questioned  them  further,  and  the 
men  told  all  they  knew.  They  had  over 
heard  the  words  that  had  passed  between 
Ashby  and  Lopez,  and  told  what  they  had 
heard. 

From  these  Dolores  gained  new  light 
upon  the  facts  of  the  case.  Having  been 
a  witness  to  the  scene  in  the  station  at 


Madrid,  she  at  once  perceived  that  this 
enemy  of  Ashby's  could  be  no  other  than 
that  man  in  civilian  dress,  but  of  military 
aspect,  with  whom  he  had  had  the  quarrel, 
who  had  been  forced  to  leave  the  carriage 
of  the  Russells.  This  man  had  travelled 
iu  the  same  train.  He  had  been  captured, 
plundered,  and  then  set  free  with  the  oth 
er  Spaniards.  Dolores  conjectured  that  he 
had  obtained  some  soldiers,  surprised  the 
castle,  and  freed  Katie.  She  also  felt  that 
Ashby  was  now  a  prisoner  once  more,  in 
the  hands  not  of  a  mere  robber,  but  of  his 
bitterest  enemy. 

Thus  the  whole  truth  flashed  upon  her 
mind. 

But  where  was  Ashby  ? 

That  she  could  not  tell  as  yet.  She 
could  only  hope,  and  make  plans. 

"  Can  we  come  up  to  you  ?"  asked  the 
Carlists. 

"No,"  said  Dolores.  "Besides,  there's 
no  escape  here.  I  can  come  to  you,  and  I 
will  do  so  before  long.  Do  not  sleep  too 
soundly.  Do  not  wake  the  others.  Be 
ready  to  act  when  I  come." 

The  men  readily  promised  this. 

"  But  why  can't  we  go  now  ?  why  can't 
you  help  us  now  ?"  they  asked. 

"  We  can't  go  away  from  this,"  said  Do 
lores,  "  without  the  English  prisoner.  But 
with  him  we  shall  surely  escape ;  so  be 
ready  to  act  when  I  give  the  word." 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

HOW  KATIE  FEELS  DEJECTED,  AND  HOW  LOPEZ  FEELS 
DISAPPOINTED. 

THERE  is  no  need  to  enlarge  upon  Ka 
tie's  feelings,  as  she  sat  in  her  lonely  cham 
ber,  buried  in  thoughts  which  were  both 
sweet  and  painful.  We  all  know  perfectly 
well  what  they  must  have  been,  for  we  all 
understand  about  that  sort  of  thing.  We've 
dreamed  love's  young  dream,  you  and  I, 
haven't  we  ?  and  so  we'll  let  this  pass.  As 
for  Katie,  I'm  afraid  she  must,  in  her  short 
experience,  from  all  appearances,  have 
dreamed  a  great  many  of  love's  young 
dreams;  but  never  among  all  her  dreams 
or  waking  thoughts  had  she  known  a  sad 
der  or  more  sorrowful  hour  than  the  pres 
ent.  Even  her  soul — volatile,  buoyant,  and 
lively — found  it  impossible  for  a  time  to 
rally.  She  sat  with  clasped  hands  and 
bowed  head,  looking  care-worn,  dejected, 
and  utterly  miserable;  and  it  was  in  this 


13G 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


state  of  mind  that  Lopez  found  her  on  the 
following  morning. 

He  felt  again  disappointed  (in  fact,  Lo 
pez  was  apparently  always  feeling  disap 
pointed),  though  why  he  should  feel  so  is 
somewhat  singular,  since  Katie  would  have 
been  more  than  human,  or  less,  if  she  had 
shown  a  joyous  face  in  such  a  situation. 

Lopez  gave  a  sigh  by  way  of  salutation. 
Katie  did  not  look  up,  but  knew  perfectly 
well  who  it  was  and  what  he  wanted. 

"  I  hope  you  have  found  this  room  more 
comfortable  than  the  last,"  he  began  at 
length,  after  the  usual  salutation. 

"  I'm.  sure  I  don't  see  what  comfort  one 
can  expect  in  such  a  place  as  this,"  was 
the  reply. 

"I'm  sorry  that  I  haven't  anything  bet 
ter  to  offer,"  said  Lopez ;  "  anything  that  is 
in  my  power  to  grant  I  will  do  for  you." 

"  Those  are  merely  idle  words,"  said  Ka 
tie.  "  There  is  one  thing,  and  one  only, 
that  I  wish,  and  that  you  can  give:  that 
one  thing  you  have  no  right  to  keep  from 
me,  and  yet  it  is  useless  to  ask  you  for  it." 

"  Useless — oh,  do  not  say  that !  Tell  me 
what  it  is." 

u  My  freedom,"  said  Katie,  earnestly. 

"  Freedom  !"  said  Lopez ;  "  why,  you  are 
free — free  as  a  bird  !" 

"  Yes,  as  a  bird  in  a  cage,"  was  the  bit 
ter  reply. 

"Ladies  must  always  be  under  some  re 
straint,"  said  Lopez:  "otherwise  you  are 
perfectly  free." 

"  This,  sir,"  said  Katie,  hotly,  "  I  consid 
er  insult ;  it  is  nothing  less  than  mockery 
at  my  distress.  Is  it  freedom  to  be  locked 
np  in  a  cell  and  cut  oif  from  all  my 
friends  ?" 

Lopez  gave  a  gasp.  He  wras  anxious  to 
please  Katie,  yet  this  was  a  bad,  a  very  bad 
beginning. 

"Why,"  said  he,  "  where  can  you-go  ?" 

"  You  will  not  even  let  me  go  about  the 
castle,"  said  Katie.  "  If  you  barred  your 
gates,  and  let  me  move  about  inside,  even 
then  it  would  be  imprisonment ;  but  you 
lock  me  in  this  cell,  and  then  you  come  to 
mock  me." 

"  Great  Heaven  !"  said  Lopez.  "  Oh,  se- 
fiorita!  won't  you  understand?  Let  me 
explain.  This  castle  is  full  of  rough,  rude 
men.  It  would  not  be  safe  for  you  to  move 
about.  They  are  not  trained  servants ;  they 
are  brutal  and  fierce.  If  you  went  among 
them  you  would  be  exposed  to  insult." 

"  My  attendant  comes  and  goes,"  said 


Katie ;  "  she  is  not  insulted.  Why  may  I 
not  be  at  least  as  free  as  she  is  ?" 

"Because,"  said  Lopez,  "you  are  a  lady; 
she  is  only  a  common  woman.  Things 
would  be  insults  to  you  which  she  only 
laughs  at.  I  cannot  allow  you  to  expose 
yourself  to  the  brutal  ribaldry  of  the  ruf 
fians  below.  If  a  father  had  his  daughter 
here,  he  would  lock  her  up,  as  I  do  you, 
out  of  affection." 

At  this  Katie  turned  her  head  away,  with 
the  air  of  one  who  was  utterly  incredulous, 
and  felt  the  uselessness  of  argument. 

Lopez  was  silent  for  a  few  moments. 
Then  he  went  on. 

"  Listen,"  said  he,  "  and  see  if  you  have 
reason  to  be  angry  with  me.  Let  me  tell 
you  some  little  of  what  I  have  done.  But 
for  me,  you  would  still  be  a  prisoner  in  the 
hands  of  a  remorseless  villain,  a  common 
brigand.  Listen  to  me,  I  entreat  you,  and 
then  tell  me  if  you  are  right  in  blaming 
me.  As  soon  as  I  was  freed  I  hurried  on 
to  Vittoria,  the  nearest  military  station.  I 
had  but  one  idea — the  rescue  of  you  from 
the  hands  of  those  villains.  At  Vittoria, 
after  incredible  effort,  I  succeeded  in  get 
ting  a  detachment  of  men  from  the  com 
mandant.  With  these  I  set  forth  on  the 
following  morning,  trying  to  find  my  way 
to  you.  It  was  an  almost  impossible  task. 
The  country,  never  thickly  inhabited,  was 
literally  deserted.  I  could  find  no  one  to 
ask,  and  could  find  no  trace  of  your  captors 
anywhere.  I  did,  however,  what  I  could, 
and  sought  everywhere  most  painfully  and 
perseveringly.  At  length,  just  as  I  was  be 
ginning  to  despair,  chance  —  the  merest 
chance — threw  in  my  way  a  couple  of  fugi 
tives.  These,  fortunately,  were  able  to  give 
me  the  information  I  wranted.  One  of  them 
knew  all  about  this  castle,  and  knew  that 
you  were  here.  With  this  help  I  was  able 
to  find  my  way  here.  And  now  I  was  once 
more  favored  by  the  merest  chance.  Had 
I  tried  to  capture  the  place  in  a  regular 
fashion  I  should  have  been  driven  back, 
for  this  castle  is  impregnable,  except  to  ar 
tillery;  but  my  guide  knew  of  a  subterra 
nean  passage-way,  and  guided  me  through 
this  into  the  court-yard.  Once  here,  I  found 
all  the  men  in  a  careless  condition,  and 
made  a  rush  upon  them  before  they  could 
get  their  arms.  Over  and  over  again  I 
risked  my  life  in  the  fight  that  followed, 
while  pressing  forward  in  my  eagerness  to 
find  you  before  they  could  get  you  off.  I 
found  you  at  last.  I  was  full  of  joy  and 


"  SHE    SAT    WITH    CLASPED    HANDS    AND    BOWED    HEAD." 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


137 


triumph  at  the  thought  of  rescuing  you 
from  a  loathsome  captivity.  Judge  of  my 
surprise  and  bitter  disappointment  when  I 
saw  you  so  indifferent,  when  you  met  me  so 
coolly;  and,  instead  of  showing  gratitude, 
seemed  rather  angry  at  me  than  otherwise." 

Lopez  paused  here  to  see  the  effect  of  his 
eloquent  speech. 

Katie  looked  up. 

"  It  was  not  captivity,  as  you  call  it," 
said  she  ;  "  and  if  it  was,  it  was  not  loath 
some.  That  word,  senor,  is  far  more  appli 
cable  to  my  present  condition." 

"  You  don't  know,"  said  Lopez.  "  You 
can't  understand.  You  must  have  been 
under  some  fatal  misapprehension.  Is  it 
possible  that  you  were  ignorant  of  the 
character  of  your  captor — a  mere  brigand 
— one  who  pretends  to  be  a  Carlist,  merely 
that  lie  may  rob  passengers,  or  capture 
them  and  hold  them  to  ransom?  Have 
you  been  all  this  time  in  such  ignorance  ?" 

"No,  senor;  I  knew  in  whose  hands  I 
had  fallen — he  is  a  man  of  honor !" 

"A  man  of  honor!"  cried  Lopez,  in 
amazement. 

"  Senor,  you  cannot  know  yet  who  he  is. 
I  must  tell  you.  He  is  the  King  of  Spain — 
His  Majesty  King  Charles  !" 

"  Don  Carlos !"  cried  Lopez. 

At  this  information  he  stood  transfixed 
with  amazement.  Nothing  was  more  prob 
able  than  that  Don  Carlos  had  been  in  the 
castle,  though  he  did  not  suppose  that  Don 
Carlos  would  rob  travellers  or  hold  them 
to  ransom.  And  then  there  came  upon  him 
the  bitter  thought  of  all  that  he  had  lost 
by  the  escape  of  this  distinguished  person 
age.  Had  he  captured  him,  he  would 
have  been  certain  of  immortal  glory  —  of 
advancement,  of  high  command,  honor, 
wealth,  everything  which  a  grateful  gov 
ernment  could  bestow.  And  all  had  slip 
ped  out  of  his  hands  by  the  narrowest 
chance.  The  thought  of  that  lost  glory 
well-nigh  overcame  him. 

"  I  didn't  see  him,"  he  groaned,  as  he 
stood  clasping  his  hands  in  an  attitude 
of  despair.  "  He  must  have  left  before  I 
came." 

"  He  left,"  said  Katie,  "  while  you  were 
in  the  castle." 

*'  Ah  !"  said  Lopez,  "  how  do  you  know 
that  ?" 

"  Because,"  said  Katie,  "  I  saw  him  when 
he  left," 

"  But  you  were  in  that  room.  How  could 
he  leave  that  room  ?" 


"  I  saw  him  when  he  left,"  said  Katie, 
"that  is  all.  You  need  not  believe  me  un 
less  you  wish,  but  it  is  true." 

Lopez  had  to  believe  her. 

"And  what  is  more,"  said  Katie,  "you 
will  not  remain  here  long.  He  will  soon 
be  back." 

"  Pooh  !"  said  Lopez,  "  he  can  do  noth 
ing.  He  can't  get  in  here.  This  castle 
is  impregnable  to  anything  less  than  an 
army." 

"  But  you  got  in." 

"  But  I've  guarded,  that  passage  so  that 
others  cannot,"  said  he. 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  she,  "  that  there 
are  no  other  secret  passages  than  that  ?" 

Katie  had  drawn  a  bow  at  a  venture. 
She  knew  from  the  statements  of  Dolores 
that  there  were  secret  passages  all  about; 
but  whether  there  were  any  others  that  ran 
out  into  the  country  outside  she  did  not 
know.  Still,  she  thought  she  would  try 
the  effect  of  this  on  Lopez.  She  was  fully 
satisfied  with  the  result  of  her  experiment. 

Lopez  started  and  stared. 

"  Other  secret  passages !"  he  said.  "  Do 
you  know  of  any  ?" 

"  If  I  did  I  would  not  tell,"  said  Katie. 

Lopez  was  much  disturbed.  He  did  not 
know  but  that  there  really  were  other  se 
cret  passages.  The  escape  of  "  His  Majes 
ty"  seemed  to  point  to  this.  He  deter 
mined  to  institute  a  thorough  search. 

"  I'll  find  out  every  passage  in  the  castle 
before  evening,"  said  he. 

Katie  smiled.  She  did  not  believe  that 
he  would  find  one.  Lopez  felt  nettled  at 
her  smile. 

"You  don't  believe  I  shall  find  them," 
said  he.  "  If  I  don't  find  them  I  shall  con 
clude  that  they  are  not  there." 

"  A  very  safe  conclusion  !"  said  Katie. 

Lopez  felt  angry.  He  had  come  hoping 
to  make  an  impression  on  Katie  by  telling 
her  of  his  love  and  devotion.  In  this  he 
had  been  miserably  disappointed.  He  had 
become  angry  and  excited.  He  was  no 
longer  in  a  fit  mood  to  appeal  to  her  feel 
ings,  and  he  felt  it.  He  therefore  con 
cluded  that  it  would  be  best  to  retire  for 
the  present,  and  come  again  after  he  had 
grown  calmer. 


133 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 


HOW  LOPEZ  HAS    ANOTHER  CONVERSATION  "WITH  KA- 
TIE,   AND  FEELS  PUZZLED. 

IT  was  not  much  more  than  an  hour  af 
terward  when  Lopez  paid  Katie  a  second 
visit.  By  that  time  he  had  overcome  all 
his  excitement,  and  had  settled  upon  a 
plan  of  action  of  a  different  kind.  It  was 
of  no  use,  he  saw,  to  appeal  to  Katie's  feel 
ings,  and  so  he  thought  that  he  would  try 
the  effect  of  a  little  pressure  of  a  moral 
character. 

u  I  hope  you  will  pardon  me,"  said  he, 
"  for  troubling  you  again,  but  it  is  necessa 
ry  for  us  to  understand  one  another,  and  I 
think  you  do  not  see  exactly  how  I  am  sit 
uated." 

At  this  Katie  made  no  observation,  but 
drew  a  long  breath,  and  leaned  back  with 
the  air  of  a  martyr.  This  was  excessively 
aggravating  to  Lopez,  but  he  managed  to 
smother  his  irritation,  and  proceeded  : 

"  Pardon  me,  senorita,  if  I  have  to  recall 
the  past.  I  saw  you,  as  you  remember, 
some  months  ago  for  the  first  time,  and 
found  you  not  unwilling  to  receive  my  at 
tentions.  From  the  first  moment  of  my 
acquaintance  with  you  I  loved  you,  and 
thought  that  I  had  reason  for  hope.  Lov 
ers  are  always  sanguine." 

"  I  can  assure  you,  senor,"  said  Katie,  "  I 
do  not  see  how  you  could  have  found  any 
reason  to  hope  in  this  case." 

Lopez  felt  this  rebuff  very  keenly,  but 
kept  his  temper. 

"I  was  merely  speaking  of  my  own 
hopes,"  said  he,  mildly,  "  and  you  certain 
ly  were  far  more  amiable  than  you  now 
arc." 

"  I'm  sure,  seiior,  I  should  be  sorry  to  be 
otherwise  than  amiable,  but  sleepless  nights 
and  solitary  confinement  must  necessarily 
affect  one's  temper.  I  can  only  say  I  do 
not  wish  to  be  rude." 

"  Pardon  me  —  rude  ?  That  is  impossi 
ble,"  said  Lopez,  grasping  eagerly  at  this 
as  at  some  small  concession.  "  I  only  want 
you  to  give  me  now  a  fair  hearing.  Let 
me  say,  once  for  all,  that  I  loved  you  then, 
and  have  loved  you  ever  since,  most  devot 
edly." 

"I  suppose  I  have  to  listen,"  said  Katie, 
"as  I  am  your  prisoner;  but  I  will  only 
hint  that  before  speaking  of  love  it  might 
be  as  well  to  set  me  free." 

Lopez  drew  a  long  breath.  It  was  hard 
indeed  for  him  to  keep  down  his  anger. 


"  Very  well,"  said  he,  taking  no  notice 
of  her  words.  "  In  the  midst  of  my  hopes 
there  came  this  English  Ash  by,  and  at  once 
I  felt  that  I  was  pushed  into  the  back 
ground.  I  bore  my  disappointment  as  well 
as  I  could,  and  in  addition  to  this  I  put 
up  wdth  things  of  which  you  never  knew. 
That  man  had  a  most  insolent  manner. 
He  was  wealthy.  He  was  purse-proud,  and 
excited  universal  hate  by  his  overbearing 
ways.  There  was  always  the  clink  of  gold 
in  his  voice,  and  even  in  his  step.  I  have 
even  received  insults  from  him." 

"  Why  did  you  put  up  with  insults  ?" 
asked  Katie.  "  I  thought  that  no  Span 
iard  ever  allowed  himself  to  be  insulted." 

"  For  your  sake,"  said  Lopez,  in  a  tender 
voice.  u  For  your  sake  I  endured  all." 

"  For  my  sake !  I  am  at  a  loss  to  see  why 
you  should  allow  any  one  to  insult  you  for 
my  sake." 

"  Ah !  there  were  many  reasons  why  I 
had  to  be  very,  very  patient  for  your  sake. 
In  the  first  place,  I  saw  that  you  preferred 
him  to  me,  and  I  feared  that  if  I  quarrelled 
with  him  you  would  hate  me;  and  that 
would  have  been  worse  than  death.  Again, 
if  I  had  quarrelled  with  him,  you  would 
have  been  known  as  the  cause,  and  would 
have  been  talked  about ;  and  in  Spain  it  is 
a  great  dishonor  to  a  young  lady  to  be 
talked  about.  But  do  not  suppose  that  I 
would  have  allowed  him  to  insult  me  with 
impunity.  No ;  a  day  was  to  come  for  a 
settlement,  and  he  knew  it,  •  When  we  left 
Madrid  we  had  agreed  upon  a  meeting." 

"  I  didn't  know  that,"  said  Katie,  care 
lessly. 

Lopez  was  struck  with  this  careless  tone 
with  regard  to  a  matter  which  affected  the 
life  of  Ashby ;  for  it  was  hardly  possible 
that  Ashby  could  have  come  unharmed  out 
of  a  mortal  combat,  but  he  took  no  notice 
of  it, 

"  Such,"  said  he,  "  was  the  state  of  affairs 
up  to  the  hour  of  our  journey.  Then  the 
train  was  stopped,  and  I  moved  heaven 
and  earth  to  follow  you  and  effect  your 
rescue,  with  what  success  you  perceive  ; 
for  here  I  am,  and  this  castle  is  in  my 
hands." 

"  I  must  protest,"  said  Katie,  with  much 
dignitj^,  "against  your  using  such  a  word 
as  'rescue'  with  reference  to  me.  I  consid 
er  that  I  have  been  seized  and  thrown  into 
prison.  I  do  not  wish  to  be  unkind;  I 
merely  say  this  in  justice  to  myself,  and  also 
to  "His  Majesty"  the  King,  of  whom  I  was 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


139 


merely  the  honored  guest,  with  plenty  of 
friends  around  me." 

At  this  Lopez  was  struck  dumb  with 
vexation.  Never  could  Katie  be  brought 
to  look  upon  his  really  gallant  and  daring- 
exploit  in  its  proper  light.  And  yet  he 
could  not  disprove  her  assertion.  He  did 
not  know  what  had  been  her  position  here. 
If  the  King  had  really  been  here,  it  was, 
after  all,  quite  possible  that  she  had  been, 
as  she  said,  an  honored  guest. 

"  '  His  Majesty,'  "  said  Katie,  in  a  calm 
and  placid  tone,  "  was  most  attentive.  He 
did  his  utmost  to  alleviate  our  dulness. 
He  paid  us  constant  visits,  and  assured  us 
over  and  over  a*gain  that  our  stay  was  to 
be  but  short.  Never  have  I  met  with  one  I 
who  was  more  kind,  more  considerate,  and  ! 
at  the  same  time  more  lively.  Always : 
laughing  and  cheerful,  he  seemed  more 
like  some  well-known  friend  than  the  great 
king  of  a  great  country.  With  us  he  for 
got  all  the  cares  of  his  situation.  He  was 
gallant,  chivalrous  —  more,  he  was  even 
pleased  to  be  merry,  and  to  indulge  in 
many  little  pleasantries.  And  now  you 
perceive,  Seiior  Captain,  what  the  real 
change  in  my  situation  has  been.  It  has 
been  from  sunshine  to  gloom ;  from  laugh 
ter  to  tears;  from  bright  and  pleasant  so 
ciety  to  loneliness  and  despair." 

This  was  putting  it  strong — very  strong  [ 
indeed,  and  Lopez  felt  it  in  his  very  soul. 
He  at  once  gave  up  any  further  efforts  in 
this  direction.  He  had  nothing  more  to 
offer  in  answer  to  such  a  statement  as  this. 
He  felt  it  to  be  a  fact  that  Katie  had  been 
happy  before  he  came,  and  that  she  was 
now  miserable.  Whatever  the  cause  was, 
there  was  the  unanswerable  fact. 

He  now  adopted  a  severe  tone. 

"  You  are  aware,  seiiora,"  said  he,  "  that 
when  I  captured  this  castle  there  were  sev 
eral  prisoners." 

Katie  nodded. 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  she.  "I  don't 
know." 

"Very  well, 
dear  friend — " 

"My   dear   friend? 
Majesty  ?' " 

Lopez  laughed  bitterly.  "How  trans 
parent  that  little  trick  is,"  he  said  to  him 
self. 

"By  'your  dear  friend,'"  said  he,  "I 
mean,  of  course,  Mr.  Ashby." 

"  Mr.  Ashby  !     Oh  !"  said  Katie. 

To  tell  the  truth,  by  this  time  Katie  had  ' 


Among 


them 


was   your 


Who?     Not   'His 


almost  forgotten  his  existence.  She  seem 
ed  to  herself  to  have  lived  years  since  last 
she  spoke  to  Mr.  Ashby.  So  she  said,  in 
an  indifferent  tone, 

"  Mr.  Ashby  ?     Oh  !" 

Lopez,  of  course,  thought  this  a  part  oi? 
her  assumed  indifference,  and  smiled  at  his 
own  penetration.  He  could  see  through 
her  little  arts;  and  he  knew  something 
which  would  soon  force  her  to  tear  away 
her  mask. 

"  He  is  arrested  as  a  spy,"  said  Lopez, 
abruptly. 

"  A  spy  I"  said  Katie ;  "  Mr.  Ashby  a  spy ! 
Why,  he  hasn't  been  a  spy.  I  don't  under 
stand." 

"  Whether  he  is  one  or  not,"  said  Lopez, 
harshly,  "  will  soon  appear,  as  he  will  be 
tried  by  court-martial  to-day.  In. times 
like  these  no  mercy  is  shown  to  spies. 
The  country  is  swarming  with  them.  They 
have  a  short  trial,  a  quick  sentence,  and  a 
summary  execution." 

"  Still,"  said  Katie,  "  I  don't  see  how  you 
can  make  out  that  Mr.  Ashby  is  a  spy." 

Katie  showed  no  horror  at  all,  no  excite 
ment  whatever,  and  Lopez  was  proportion 
ally  amazed.  He  had  not  expected  this. 

"  I  can't  tell,"  said  he ;  "  the  court-mar 
tial  will  deal  with  him.  I  dare  say  he  is  a 
spy,  and  I  fully  expect  that  he  will  be 
shot." 

"  Well,"  said  Katie,  "  I  dare  say  he  must 
be.  You  seem  to  hate  him  so,  and  you  say 
he  has  insulted  you,  so  you  will  take  this 
way  of  being  revenged.  All  the  same,  I 
shouldn't  like  to  deal  that  way  with  my 
enemy.  Poor  Mr.  Ashby !  It's  very,  very 
sad!  Oh,  what  would  "His  Majesty" 
think  if  he  were  to  hear  this  !" 

Once  more  Lopez  was  struck  dumb.  He 
had  counted  wTith  certainty  upon  produ 
cing  a  strong  effect  on  Katie.  By  holding 
Ashby's  doom,  over  her  head,  he  hoped  to 
influence  her.  But  this  tremendous  blow 
had  fallen,  and  had  evidently  not  been  felt. 
For  Ashby  and  for  his  fate  Katie  had 
nothing  but  the  most  commonplace  expres 
sions  of  pity — no  horror,  no  grief,  no  de 
spair,  nothing  of  the  sort. 

In  fact,  so  completely  overcome  was  Lo 
pez  by  this  unexpected  result  of  his  inter 
view  with  Katie  that  he  left  abruptly. 

He  was  full  of  wonder.  "  Is  it  possible," 
he  thought,  "  that  this  is  her  English  stub 
bornness  ?  Can  she  have  so  much  of  that 
infernal  English  stolidity  as  to  be  able  to 
conceal  so  perfectly  her  deepest  feelings? 


140 


A  CASTLE  IN   SPAIN. 


Impossible  !  Does  she  love  Ashby  ?  She  : 
cannot !  Does  she  love  anybody  ?  No  ! 
Can  she  love  ?  I  don't  believe  it !  What 
a  girl !  what  a  girl !  And  she  seems  so 
gentle,  so  timid,  but  in  reality  she's  as  bold 
as  a  lion,  and  as  fierce  as  a  she-tiger.  By 
heavens !  she  shall  be  mine,  if  she's  the 
Evil  One  himself. 

"And  that  poor  fool  Ashby  thinks  she 
loves  him !  Bah !  she  cares  no  more  for 
him  than  she  does  for  me.  The  idiot ! 
This  is  a  sweeter  vengeance  for  me  than 
anything  else.  And,  by  heavens !  he  shall 
still  be  present  at  our  marriage.  For  mar 
ried  we  shall  be  in  spite  of  fate,  even  if  I 
have  to  gain  her  consent  with  the  muzzle 
of  my  pistol  against  her  brow." 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

IN   WHICH   HARRY   ASKS   A    FAVOR,   AND   LOPEZ    BE 
GINS   TO   SEE   A   LITTLE   LIGHT. 

WHILE  Lopez  was  thus  chafing  and  fum 
ing  he  was  accosted  by  Harry. 

Harry's  position  was  peculiar,  and  not 
particularly  enviable.  He  had  been  in 
formed  that  he  was  a  free  man,  and  master 
of  his  own  actions.  Lopez  had  nothing 
against  him,  and  by  this  time  had  forgot 
ten  even  his  existence.  After  his  deliv 
erance,  Harry  had  gone  mooning  about, 
stared  at  by  all  in  the  castle,  until  at  length 
he  had  fallen  asleep. 

In  the  morning  he  made  a  great  discov 
ery.  This  was  the  fact  that  his  freedom  to 
go  was  useless,  and  that  he  was  still  a  pris 
oner  here — a  prisoner,  though  a  voluntary 
one — a  prisoner  bound  to  this  place  by 
bonds  stronger  than  iron  manacles  or  walls 
of  stone.  These  bonds  were  the  feelings  | 
which  had  started  up  within  him  before  he 
was  aware,  and  now  held  him  fast  tied  to 
Katie.  He  awoke  to  feel  that  his  present 
freedom  was  far  less  sweet  than  his  late 
captivity — that  delightful  captivity  with  its 
stolen  interviews,  and  the  sweet  thoughts 
of  her  who  was  so  near. 

And  where  was  she  now  ?  He  had  seen 
nothing  of  her.  Had  she  fled  ?  But  how, 
and  why,  and  where  would  she  have  fled 
from  him  ?  Had  she  been  captured  ?  But 
why  ?  Who  would  capture  her  ?  Yet 
where  was  she  ?  These  were  the  questions 
that  came  thronging  upon  him  to  vex  his 
soul  and  destroy  his  peace ;  so  that  it  was 
for  the  purpose  of  finding  out  something 


definite  about  her  that  he  had  sought  out 
Lopez. 

He  looked  pale  and  agitated.  Lopez, 
preoccupied  though  he  was,  could  not  help 
noticing  this,  and  he  thought  that  Harry 
must  be  suffering  from  anxiety  about  his 
friend  Ashby.  This,  however,  he  immedi 
ately  found,  from  Harry's  first  question,  to 
be  a  great  mistake. 

Harry  was  far  from  suspecting  the  state 
of  mind  in  which  Lopez  was — how  full  of 
love  and  jealousy  and  suspicion  ;  how  at 
that  very  moment  lie  was  eager  to  pene 
trate  into  the  secret  of  Katie's  heart.  In 
fact,  Harry  suspected  nothing  at  all,  and 
so  was  not  at  all  on  his  gu'ard,  but  blurted 
out  all  his  feelings. 

"Captain  Lopez,"  lie  began,  "did  you 
see  a  young  English  lady  here  last  night — 
a  Miss  Westlotorn  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Lopez. 

"Did  you?  Is  she—  Did—  Is—is— 
is  she  in — in  the  castle  ?"  stammered  Har 
ry,  in  distress  and  deep  agitation. 

There  was  not  one  expression  on  Harry's 
face  nor  one  tremor  in  his  faltering  voice 
that  was  not  instantly  marked  by  Lopez. 
There  seemed  in  this  to  be  some  clue  to 
the  mystery. 

"  She  is  in  the  castle,"  said  Lopez. 

"Where  —  when — where?"  said  Harry, 
excitedly.  "  I've  been  looking  for  her  ev 
erywhere.  I've  gone  over  the  whole  cas 
tle.  I  hope  she  isn't  hurt !  Is  she  safe  ? 
Did  she  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  sol 
diers?" 

"  She  fell  into  my  hands,"  said  Lopez, 
bluntly. 

Harry  fastened  on  him  a  look  of  devour 
ing  anxiety. 

"Did  you —  Is  she — •  What  did  — 
When — that  is — is  she  safe  ?" 

"  She  is  safe,"  said  Lopez. 

Harry  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  You  see,"  said  he,  with  a  little  more 
composure,  "  I  have  felt  anxious  about  her. 
I  have  been  worried,  you  know,  and  I  have 
felt  anxious  about  her — in  fact,  you  know, 
I  have  felt  anxious  about  her." 

"  She  is  kept  out  of  the  way  just  now," 
said  Lopez,  on  account  of  the  riot  in  the 
castle  and  the  dread  we  have  of  an  attack. 
I  don't  care  about  letting  the  men  know 
she  is  here." 

Harry  drew  a  breath  of  relief. 

"  I'm  glad,"  he  said. 

Another  sigh  followed.  Then  he  looked 
wistfully  at  Lopez. 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


141 


"Would  it  be  too  much  to  ask — if  I  were 
to  ask — if  you  would  present  me — to — to 
pay  my  respects  to  her,  as  an  old  friend  ?" 

"  Impossible,  seiior,"  said  Lopez.  "  She 
is  with  the  women ;  you  couldn't  visit  her. 
You  will  be  able  to  pay  your  respects  to 
her  after  she  reaches  Vittoria,  or  some  oth 
er  place  of  safety.  Until  then  it  is  impos 
sible.  As  for  yourself,  I  hope  you  are  com 
fortable  ;  and  whenever  you  wish  to'go  you 
may  go." 

Harry  sighed,  and  stood  as  one  in  a 
dream. 

"I  think,"  said  he,  "I  shall  not  go— just 
yet.     Perhaps  I  may  wait  till  the  rest  are  j 
going." 

"  Good  -  morning,  senor,"  said  Lopez, 
walking  away. 

Harry  stood  rooted  to  the  spot. 

As  Lopez  walked  off,  he  felt  that  he  had 
got  hold  of  something  which  might  be 
used  against  Katie.  "Another" — he  said 
to  himself— "  another  poor  fool  who  has 
become  infatuated,  like  myself,  but  now 
the  power  is  mine,  and  I  will  use  it.  Yes ; 
perhaps  she  herself  may  feel  toward  this 
man  something  of  what  I  feel  toward  her. 
If  so — if  so — I'll  drag  the  secret  out  of  her. 
But,  by  heaven  !  that  poor  fool  is  standing 
there  yet.  There's  a  mad  lover  for  you ! 
Ha,  ha !  Is  he  any  worse  than  I  have  been  ? 
Let  me  see.  Suppose  I  had  been  taken 
prisoner  as  he  has  been,  shut  up  with  her 
in  a  castle,  then  freed ;  would  I  not  long  to 
see  her  ?  Would  not  liberty  be  useless 
without  her?  That  man  can't  leave  his 
prison-house.  She  is  here — she  is  here; 
that's  enough.  Yet  what  is  she  to  him? 
Is  not  this  man  Ashby's  friend?  I  saw 
them  meet  at  the  hotel  in  Burgos  as  I 
watched  Ashby.  They  greeted  like  broth 
ers,  and  went  off  together  for  the  night. 
And  lie — why,  he  has  fallen  in  love  with 
his-  friend's  betrothed  !  his  friend's  —  ha, 
ha  ! — betrothed — ha,  ha ! — and,  by  Jove  ! 
why  not  ?  That  girl  could  make  a  saint 
fall  in  love  witli  her.  That  girl — why  she 
oughtn't  to  be  allowed  to  go  at  large,  and 
therefore  I've  shut  her  up;  ami  shut  up 
she  shall  be  for  the  remainder  of  her  days, 
like  a  good  Spanish  wife.  But  I  must  have 
a  few  more  words  with  my  moon -struck 
lover." 

With  these  thoughts  Lopez  sauntered 
back  to  where  Harry  was  standing,  fixed 
upon  the  spot  where  he  had  left  him. 

"  Pardon,  senor,"  said  he,  "  but  it  seems 
to  me  that  you  take  a  deep  interest  in  the 


senorita.  May  1  ask  if  she  is  a  relative  ? 
In  that  case  some  allowance  might  be 
made :  she  might  not  object  to  see  a  rela 
tive." 

"  Oh,"  said  Harry,  eagerly,  his  whole  face 
gleaming  with  joy,  "  she  will  never  object 
to  see  me.  Ask  her;  ask  her.  She  will 
be  delighted  to  see  me?"1 

At  this  there  were  two  distinct  feelings 
struggling  for  the  mastery  in  the  breast  of 
the  Spaniard;  one  was  exultation  at  the 
ready  way  in  which  Harry  had  fallen  into 
his  trap;  the  other  was  one  of  jealousy  at 
Harry's  easy  confidence.  He  had  never  felt 
such  confidence  at  finding  a  welcome  re 
ception  from  Katie.  However,  he  was  now 
on  the  right  track,  and  he  determined  to 
follow  it  up. 

"  Are  you  a  relative  of  the  lady's  ?"  he 
asked. 

"  Well,  no — not  exactly  a  relative,"  said 
Harry. 

"Ah!  perhaps  a  connection  by  mar 
riage  ?" 

"Well,  no  —  not  exactly  a  connection, 
either—" 

"  Well,  you  see,  senor,  in  Spain  etiquette 
is  very  strict,  and  our  ladies  are  under 
more  restraint  than  with  you.  I  must  treat 
this  lady  in  accordance  with  my  own  feel 
ings,  and  a  Spanish  gentleman  would  feel 
as  if  he  were  slighting  a  lady  if  he  were 
to  act  out  of  accordance  with  Spanish  eti 
quette." 

"  Oh,"  said  Harry,  earnestly,  "  she  is  an 
English  lady." 

"  But  I  am  a  Spanish  gentleman." 

Harry  drew  a  long  breath.  He  was  in 
despair.  Oh,  how  he  longed  to  be  Katie's 
third  cousin  for  a  few  minutes. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Lopez,  "  but  you 
see  I  have  to  be  guided  by  my  own  sense 
of  propriety.  I  suppose  you  are  a  very  old 
friend,  senor ;  yet  I  have  been  quite  inti 
mate  with  the  senorita  myself,  and  never 
heard  her  mention  your  name." 

"  Well,"  said  Harry,  "  I  have  not  known 
her  very  long." 

"  She  used  to  speak  freely  of  all  her  Eng 
lish  friends,"  continued  Lopez;  "for  you 
see  she  had  not  many,  having  lived  so  long 
in  Spain ;  and  so  I  was  surprised  to  hear 
you  speak  of  her  as  so  intimate  a  friend." 

"  Well,"  said  Harry,  "  my  acquaintance 
with  her  is  not  of  very  long  standing." 

"  You  were  not  acquainted  with  her  at 
Madrid  ?"  said  Lopez. 

"  No,"  said  Harry,  dreamily. 


142 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


"  Nor  at  Cadiz  ?"  continued  Lopez. 

«  No— not  Cadiz." 

"  Then,  scnor,  you  could  only  have  made 
her  acquaintance  on  this  journey,"  said  Lo 
pez,  •with  a  smile,  which  was  not  merely 
put  on  for  a  purpose.  He  felt  like  smiling, 
so  successful  had  he  been  in  getting  at  the 
truth. 

Harry  looked  confused. 

"  Well,  you  see,  senor,  in  captivity,  or  on 
a  journey,  people  are  very  much  thrown 
together,  and  they  make  friendships  very 
fast," 

"Oh  yes,"  said  Lopez,  "I  understand. 
In  short,  it  arnotmts  to  this,  that  one  day 
of  such  intercourse,  so  free,  so  unconven 
tional,  is  equal  to  a  whole  year,  or  even  a 
whole  lifetime,  of  the  formal  intercourse  of 
ordinary  social  life." 

"  Well,  senor,  I  am  sorry.  I  came  back 
thinking  that  yon  might  be  some  near  rel 
ative  or  connection.  My  own  ideas  and 
habits  do  not  allow  me  to  permit  what  you 
ask ;  but  the  senorita  will  be  her  own  mis 
tress  in  time,  and  then  of  course  she  can 
see  whom  she  chooses." 

And  now,  for  a  second  time,  Lopez 
walked  away,  thinking  that  he  understood 
all.  Another  victim,  he  thought.  And  in 
two  or  three  days:  in  that  time  she  has 
turned  his  head.  And  does  she  return  his 
passion  ?  Is  she  as  indifferent  to  him  as 
she  is  to  me,  and  to  Ashby  ?  I  will  soon 
find  out. 


CHAPTER  XL VI. 

IN    V,-niCII    LOPEZ    MAKES    A    FUESH    ASSAULT,  AND 
KATIE    BREAKS   DOWN   UTTERLY. 

ONCE  more  Lopez  called  upon  Katie :  it 
was  about  two  hours  after  his  last  call. 
This  was  his  third  call  in  one  day.  She 
looked  surprised  and  also  vexed. 

"A  little  matter  has  occurred  to  me," 
said  he,  "  which  I  thought  I  -would  men 
tion  to  you,  as  it  ought  to  be  of  some  con 
cern  to  you." 

"Ah!"  said  Katie,  languidly,  as  Lopez 
paused.  She  seemed  to  be  more  indiffer 
ent,  if  possible,  than  ever;  more  self-ab 
sorbed,  and  more  bored  with  his  society. 

"It's  about  a  certain  Mr.  Rivers,"  contin 
ued  Lopez. 

It  was  not  without  very  careful  premed 
itation  that  Lopez  had  entered  upon  this 
interview,  and  the  result  of  his  thoughts 
was  that  he  had  decided  upon  introducing 


this  matter  in  the  most  abrupt  manner  pos 
sible.  But  in  all  his  speculations  as  to  the 
possible  effect  of  this  new  scheme,  he  had 
lever  imagined  anything  like  the  reality  as 
.ie  now  witnessed  it. 

At  the  mention  of  that  name  Katie's 
nanncr  changed  instantly  and  utterly. 
From  languor,  from  indifference,  and  from 
joredom,  she  started  up  erect  with  wild 
excitement  and  terrified  interest.  In  her 
face  there  was  a  perfect  anguish  of  fear 
and  apprehension.  Her  eyes  stared  upon 
Irim  in  utter  horror ;  she  gasped  for  breath, 
and  it  was  not  until  some  time  that  she 
could  articulate  a  few  words. 

"  Mr.— Mr. — Rivers  1"  she  gasped.  "  Did 
you  say — Mr.  Rivers  ?" 

However  amazed  Lopez  w^as  at  Katie's 
intensity  of  excitement,  he  made  no  refer- 
nce  to  it,  and  answered  in  a  quiet  and 
matter-of-fact  tone. 

"  He  said  he  was  acquainted  with  you, 
and  wanted  to  see  you." 

"To  see  me?  Mr.  Rivers?"  said  Katie, 
still  agitated.  "  And  can  —  can  he  —  will 
he — win  you  let  him  ?  Did  you  consent  ?" 

"  Well,"  said  Lopez,  "  you  see,  there  were 
reasons — " 

"  Reasons  !"  repeated  Katie,  all  tremu 
lously,  and  in  dire  suspense  —  "reasons!" 
she  waited  his  reply  breathlessly.  The 
thought  of  Harry  being  in  the  power  of 
Lopez,  of  the  hate  and  malignant  ven 
geance  which  Lopez  might  pour  forth  upon 
his  devoted  head,  had  all  occurred  to  her 
at  once  at  the  mention  of  his  name,  and 
still  overwhelmed  her. 

"In  Spain,  you  know,"  said  Lopez, 
"  there  is  not  such  freedom  of  social  inter 
course  between  young  unmarried  ladies 
and  gentlemen  as  in  England,  and  I  did 
not  think  that  you  would  feel  like  viola 
ting  our  Spanish  etiquette." 

"  Spanish  etiquette !"  cried  Katie,  with 
nervous  eagerness;  "oh,  that  is  nothing — 
Tell  him  he  may  come — he  may  come ;  tell 
him  he  may  come— I  shall  be  most  happy 
to  see  him— I  shall  be  so  glad  to  see  him ! 
I  shall— oh,  I  shall— be— I  shall  be— oh  yes, 
glad  to  see  him  !" 

Katie  was  struggling  with  intense  feel 
ing.  Her  feelings  carried  her  away  com 
pletely.  Lopez  saw  this  plainly,  and  felt, 
as  he'  had  felt  in  Ashby's  case,  partly  tri 
umphant  exultation,  partly  the  bitterest 
jealousy.  But  he  had  a  careful  guard  over 
every  exhibition  of  his  own  feelings.  And 
yet,  in  the  midst  of  his  exultation,  his  jeal- 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


143 


ousy,  and  his  efforts  at  self-control,  lie  mar 
velled  greatly  at  the  intensity  of  feeling  dis 
played  by  this  girl  whom  he  had  believed 
to  be  so  immovable.  And  for  whom? — for 
an  acquaintance  of  three  days'  standing. 

"Oh,  but  you  see,"  said  he,  "there  is 
something  else  to  prevent,  unfortunately." 

"  Something  else !"  repeated  Katie,  in  a 
low,  trembling  voice  :  "  and  unfortunately  ! 
did  you  say  unfortunately .?" 

"  I  said  unfortunately"  said  Lopez.  "  You 
see — I  forgot  to  mention  it  before,  as  I  did 
not  know  that  you  were  acquainted  with 
him — but  this  Rivers  has  been  arrested  as 
a  spy." 

This  was,  of  course,  untrue ;  but  Lopez 
was  merely  trying  an  experiment  on  Katie. 

The  experiment  was  fearfully  successful. 

In  an  instant  all  that  Lopez  had  said  at 
their  last  interview  about  the  fate  of  spies 
rushed  to  her  mind.  Ashby's  fate  she  had 
regarded  with  mild  pity,  but  the  fate  of 
Rivers  seemed  to  crush  her  down  into  the 
dust. 

She  clutched  the  arm  of  Lopez  convul 
sively  with  both  her  hands  ;  she  raised  up 
her  face,  white  with  horror;  she  gasped 
for  breath. 

"  Oh,  senor !  oh,  senor !"  she  cried,  "what 
is  it  that  you  mean  ?  A  spy !  Harry  a 
spy,  and  arrested !  Oh,  you  cannot  mean 
it !  Say  that  you  do  not  mean  it !  Oh,  say 
it— say  it !" 

She  could  say  no  more.  Her  grasp  loos 
ened.  She  fell  back,  and,  burying  her  face 
in  her  hands,  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears. 
Sobs  convulsed  that  slender  frame.  Lopez 
sat  with  a  bitter  smile  regarding  her. 

"You  seem  to  value  the  life  of  this  Riv 
ers,"  said  he  at  length,  after  a  long  silence. 

Katie  lifted  her  face,  and  regarded  him 
with  eyes  all  red  and  swollen. 

"  His  life !"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  shud 
der — "his  life  !  Ah,  that  is  it !  And  I  see 
in  your  face  that  there  is — no — hope.  Oh, 
Harry  !  oh,  Harry,  Harry  !" 

Her  voice  died  away  in  a  low  shudder. 
Lopez  himself  was  moved.  He  had  not 
been  in  the  least  prepared  for  such  an  utter 
break-clown  as  this.  Ah  !  now  he  saw  that 
Katie  could  love,  and  how  she  could  love  ! 
At  the  force  of  that  love  all  else  passed  away 
— pride,  shame,  hate,  all ;  everything  was 
forgotten  except  that  name,  upon  which 
her  voice  dwelt  with  such  longing. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "  he  is  a  spy.  He  is  now 
being  tried,  or  rather,  he  has  been  tried — 
for  I  may  as  well  tell  it — and  has  been  con- 
10 


dernned.  I  need  say  no  more  about  it;  I 
have  already  said  enough.  You  know  the 
fate  of  a  condemned  spy.  Before  another 
hour  all  will  be  over." 

At  first  Katie  seemed  about  to  faint,  but 
the  last  sentence  roused  her.  She  started 
up,  and  again  seized  his  arm  with  her  con 
vulsive  grasp.  With  white,  tremulous  lips 
she  said,  in  a  low  voice  which  had  sunk  to 
a  whisper, 

"  An  hour !  an  hour  !  Did  you  say — an 
other  hour  2" 

Lopez  bowed  his  head  in  silence. 

"  But  you — you — you"  said  Katie,  fierce 
ly — "  you  do  not  believe  him  guilty  ?" 

"  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  said  Lo 
pez,  coldly. 

"  Nothing  to  do  ?  Are  you  not  com 
mander  here  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Can  you  do  nothing  ?"  she  asked  again. 

"  No.  The  trial  is  over.  His  fate  has 
already  been  decided ;  in  another  hour  all 
will  be  over." 

The  repetition  of  these  words  roused  Ka 
tie  to  a  fresh  outburst  of  despairing  grief. 

"  Oh  1"  said  she ;  "  in  so  short  a  time  !  so 
short !" 

"It  was  because  he  was  so  near  his 
doom,"  continued  Lopez,  "  that  the  con 
demned  prisoner  requested  to  see  you,  and 
I  thought  I  would  mention  it.  Had  it  not 
been  for  this  request  he  would  have  been 
shot  without  your  knowing  it." 

Katie  wrung  her  hands,  in  a  blind  pas 
sion  of  despair. 

"  Oh  !"  she  burst  forth,  "  something  must 
be  done  !  He  shall  not  die  !  He  must  not ! 
Oh,  heavens  !  how  can  I  live,  and  think  of 
it  ?  Harry !  Harry !  was  there  no  one  to 
speak  for  you  ?  A  spy !  It's  false !  He 
was  a  simple  traveller.  Oh,  Captain  Lopez, 
there  must  be  some  way  of  saving  him,  or 
at  least  of  deferring  his  doom.  Can  it  not 
be  put  off— for  one  day  ?" 

"  That  would  be  of  no  avail,"  said  Lopez. 

"  One  day !"  pleaded  Katie,  in  eager 
tones. 

"  It's  useless,"  said  Lopez ;  "  it's  impossi 
ble.  The  sentence  of  the  court  cannot  be 
revoked." 

"  But  time  flies !  Oh,  Captain  Lopez,  can 
you  not  let  him  go  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Lopez,  "  I  can  do  that 
easily  enough.  I  could  let  him  out,  so  that 
he  could  escape." 

At  this  Katie  fell  on  her  knees,  and 
clasped  the  hands  of  Lopez. 


144 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


"  Oh,  Captain  Lopez,  I  kneel  to  you  !  I 
pray  to  you !  On  my  knees  I  pray  for  his 
life  !  Let  him  fly !  Oh,  let  him  fly  !  Oh,  I 
pray — I  pray  on  my  knees  !" 

Lopez  drew  a  long  breath.  This  scene 
was  terrible  to  him  in  many  ways;  but, 
above  all,  it  was  terrible  to  see  what  love 
was  thus  lavished  on  this  comparative 
stranger,  when  he  would  risk  his  life,  and 
had  risked  his  life,  for  a  single  smile. 

"  Think,"  said  he,  "  what  it  is  that  you 
ask.  The  moment  I  let  him  go,  that  mo 
ment  I  myself  am  a  criminal,  I  myself  am 
condemned.  I  must  fly — I  must  become  a 
ruined  man  !  Ruined  ?  Worse :  dishonor 
ed,  disgraced  in  my  native  land;  I  who 
have  had  high  ambitions,  and  have  won 
no  mean  distinctions.  And  yet  do  you  ask 
this  of  me  ?" 

Katie  bowed  her  head  down ;  she  kissed 
his  hands,  and  in  tremulous  tones  said, 

"  Oh,  I  must— I  must !     I  do  !" 

Lopez  was  trembling  from  head  to  foot. 
He  himself  could  now  scarcely  speak  from 
agitation. 

"And  may  I,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice — 
"  may  I — ask — nothing  from  you — when  I 
give  up  —  honor,  life,  hope,  all  —  for  your 
sake  ?" 

There  was  a  suggestiveness  in  this  ques 
tion  which  flashed  at  once  in  all  its  fullest 
meaning  into  Katie's  mind.  She  dropped 
his  hands;  she  sank  upon  the  floor;  she 
bowed  her  head  tremblingly  and  despair 
ingly.  Lopez  looked  at  her  with  an  agita 
tion  equal  to  her  own,  and  a  despair  only 
less.  She  loved  another — she  could  never 
love  him;  she  loved  another  —  oh,  how 
vehemently,  how  dearly  she  loved  him ! 
Yet  she  must  be  his ! 

"  One  hour  was  allowed  him,"  murmured 
Lopez  —  "one  hour  to  prepare.  Much  of 
that  hour  has  already  passed.  Say,  will 
you  save  his  life  ?  and  shall  I  set  him  free  ? 
Say,  shall  I  go  to  ruin  ?  Say,  will  you  give 
up  as  much  for  me  as  I  am  ready  to  give 
up  for  you  ?  Quick — another  minute,  and 
it  may  be  too  late !" 

Katie  started  up  wildly. 

"  Go !  go !"  she  said,  in  a  hot,  feverish 
whisper.  "  Haste — fly — save  him  !" 

"  You  promise  ?"  said  Lopez. 

"  Oh,  my  God  !  yes  !"  cried  Katie,  and 
fell  senseless  to  the  floor. 

"  See  to  your  mistress,"  said  Lopez,  in  a 
faltering  voice,  as  he  went  outside  and  met 
the  attendant  there. 

Then  Lopez  went  away,  not  to  free  Har 


ry,  for  he  was  already  free,  but  to  a  lonely 
room,  where  he  flung  himself  on  his  face 
on  the  stony  floor,  and  lay  there  long,  weep 
ing  like  a  child. 

For  the  agony  of  this  man  at  winning 
Katie  thus  was  equal  to  that  of  Katie  over 
her  act  of  self-sacrifice. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

IN  WHICH  LOPEZ  USES  HIS  ADVANTAGED  TO  THE 
UTTERMOST,  AND  KATIE  SINKS  INTO  DEEPER  DE 
SPAIR. 

AND  so  Lopez  had  resolved  to  gratify 
both  his  love  and  his  vengeance.  He  was 
determined  at  all  hazards  to  force  Katie  to 
be  his  wife ;  and  at  the  same  time  he  would 
be  able  to  take  a  sweet  and  most  effective 
revenge  on  the  hated  Asiiby.  As  for  this 
new  lover,  Rivers,  who  had  so  unexpected 
ly  started  up,  the  decision  was  more  diffi 
cult.  He  felt  no  hate  toward  him  as  he 
did  toward  Ashby.  He  had  received  no 
insults  at  his  hands.  There  was  in  Harry's 
manner  none  of  that  outrageous  supercil 
iousness  which  had  made  Ashby  so  detest 
able.  The  face  of  Eivers  was  of  itself  one 
which  conciliated  all,  and  his  character 
was  visible  in  his  frank,  free,  and  easy  man 
ners.  With  such  a  man  it  was  almost  im 
possible  to  quarrel ;  still,  the  jealousy  of 
Lopez  had  been  roused  at  the  discovery  of 
Katie's  love  for  Rivers,  and  for  this  he  felt 
a  resentment.  He  determined,  therefore,  to 
include  that  young  man  in  his  plans,  and 
thought  that  the  simplest  and  most  effec 
tive  mode  of  dealing  with  him  would  be 
to  invite  him  also  to  the  wedding.  Thus 
both  the  lovers  should  see  with  their  own 
eyes  the  end  of  this  affair.  Ashby  should 
see  it,  Rivers  also  should  see  it.  The  pros 
pect  was  a  delightful  one,  and  did  much 
toward  restoring  Lopez  to  his  equanimity. 

"  Aha  !"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  reached 
this  conclusion — "  aha,  my  tender,  cooing 
doves  !  how  will  you  like  that?" 

Another  thought,  which  gave  him  almost 
equal  delight,  was  that  of  the  revenge 
which  he  would  be  able  to  take  on  Rus 
sell.  Russell  had  stirred  up  his  deepest 
hate.  He  had  insulted  him  at  Madrid,  and 
had  put  a  stop  to  his  attentions  to  Katie. 
He  had  publicly  expelled  him  from  the 
railway  -  carriage.  Had  he  been  Katie's 
father,  Lopez  would  have  felt  resentful 
enough,  and  would  have  found  it  hard  to 
forgive ;  but  as  he  was  merely  a  guardian, 


HE    FLUNG   HIMSELF   ON    HIS   FACE    ON    THE    STONY   FLOOR,  AND   LAY    THERE    LONG." 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


145 


and  as  Katie  had  no  affection  for  him,  he 
was  under  no  constraint  whatever,  and 
could  gratify  his  revenge  without  any  hin- 
derance.  It  was  to  him  a  most  delightful 
chance  which  had  thrown  Russell  in  his 
way  under  such  peculiar  and  ridiculous  re 
lations  to  Rita ;  and  to  take  advantage  of 
this  was  a  happy  thought,  which  filled  him 
with  such  exultation  that  for  a  time  he 
almost  lost  sight  of  the  darker  and  more 
disheartening  side  of  this  affair. 

That  darker  side  was  the  aversion  which 
Katie  had  evinced  toward  himself.  She 
had  shown  it.  It  was  not  merely  her  love 
for  Rivers ;  it  was  something  like  repug 
nance  to  himself,  which  had  been  evident 
at  their  first  meeting.  The  juncture  which 
he  considered  most  favorable  to  his  hopes 
had  evidently  been  most  unfavorable.  He 
had  hoped  to  be  received  as  a  deliverer ; 
he  had  only  been  viewed  as  a  captor.  Her 
face,  her  expression,  her  tears,  her  agony, 
were  all  present  evermore  to  his  memory. 

He  must  see  her  soon.  He  must  press 
on  this  marriage  at  once.  Delay  would 
only  be  worse.  His  situation  here  was  pre 
carious.  If  he  were  to  linger  too  long,  the 
Carlists  might  rally,  and  he  would  be  be 
sieged.  Before  that  could  happen  he  must 
have  Katie  for  his  wife,  and  then  retreat 
as  fast  as  possible.  He  could  not  defer  the 
marriage  till  they  reached  Vittoria,  for  then 
Katie  would  surely  elude  him  and  effect 
her  escape.  He  concluded  that  he  must 
be  married  on  the  following  day  at  the 
farthest,  and  in  the  morning.  To  post 
pone  it  any  longer  was  not  to  be  thought 
of. 

That  evening  he  visited  Katie  once  more. 
As  he  entered  and  looked  at  her,  he  was 
struck  to  the  heart  to  see  the  change  that 
had  come  over  her.  She  was  pale,  thin, 
and  haggard.  She  looked  up  hastily,  with 
staring  eyes.  Then  she  started  up  and 
looked,  but  said  nothing.  But  Lopez  re 
flected  that  all  this  was  the  result  of  a  love 
for  another,  and  at  that  thought  his  pity 
passed  away.  He  would  go  on  with  his 
work,  he  thought.  He  would  not  be  de 
feated  by  unreasonable  whims,  and  violent 
yet  fitful  gusts  of  passion. 

"  He  is  safe  !"  said  Lopez. 

Katie  clasped  her  hands.  Her  voice  now 
returned,  and,  casting  up  her  eyes,  she  ejac 
ulated  in  low  tones, 

"  Oh,  thank  Heaven! — but  where — where 
— has  he  gone  ?" 

Lopez  shook  his  head. 


"Not  yet,"  said  he;  u  nor  can  he  go — 
till  your  promise  is  fulfilled." 

Katie  shuddered. 

"  Is  there— is  there — no  other  way  ?"  she 
asked,  tremulously. 

"  No,"  said  Lopez.  "  And  the  promise 
must  be  fulfilled  soon." 

"  Soon  !"  said  Katie,  with  white  lips. 

"I  will  explain,"  said  Lopez.  "I  am  in 
danger  here  in  many  ways  —  enemies  all 
around.  The  moment  that  Rivers  is  re 
leased  I  am  a  ruined  man.  I  too  must  fly ; 
but  you  must  accompany  me.  So  the  mo 
ment  that  Rivers  is  free  you  must  be  mine. 
Our  marriage  must  take  place  at  once." 

"At  once  !"  cried  Katie,  with  a  look  of 
horror.  "  Oh  heavens  !" 

Lopez  drew  a  deep  breath.  This  aver 
sion  of  Katie  toward  himself  was  horrible. 

"  Or  else,"  continued  Lopez,  "  in  the 
event  of  your  refusal — " 

"What?  what?" 

"  Rivers  is  a  prisoner  yet.  He  has  been 
reprieved — that  is  all.  The  court  did  not 
decide." 

"A  prisoner — yet!"  repeated  Katie. 

"  He  cannot  go,"  said  Lopez,  "  till  we  are 
married." 

"  Oh  heavens !" 

"  Till  then  he  is  in  the  greatest  possible 
peril ;  till  then  he  is  only  safe  by  the  most 
violent  exercise  of  arbitrary  authority  on 
my  part.  Some  of  my  followers  are  in 
tensely  excited:  all  are  mutinous:  they 
clamor  for  his  death.  They  look  at  me 
with  sinister  faces  and  low  muttered  exe 
crations.  With  these  fierce,  implacable 
spirits  how  can  he  be  safe  ?  I  am  not  safe 
myself.  The  moment  I  set  him  free  I  dare 
not  remain  behind.  I  cannot  go — I  will 
not  go — without  you.  His  life  depends  on 
you.  My  men  cannot  be  long  restrained. 
I  myself  have  had  to  tell  them  that  it  is 
only  for  twenty-four  hours." 

"  Oh  heavens !"  cried  Katie,  in  even 
deeper  anguish. 

"Before  that  time  is  up  he  must  go — 
yes,  long  before  —  so  as  to  be  well  on  his 
journey,  out  of  reach  of  these  fierce  ene 
mies.  I  must  go  soon  after  he  does.  I 
cannot  go  alone — I  cannot  give  up  every 
thing.  If  I  give  up  ambition  for  your  sake, 
it  is  only  fair  that  I  should  satisfy  my 
love." 

"Love!"  cried  Katie.  "Oh!  Love!  How 
can  you  talk  of  love !" 

"  Love  !  "  said  Lopez,  bitterly.  "  No  one 
ever  felt  it  so  painfully  as  I." 


146 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


Katie  was  silent.  She  turned,  away, 
wringing  her  hands. 

"  Do  you  wish  his  life  ?" 

"  His  life  ?  Oh  heavens  !  am  I  not  ready 
to  lay  down  my  life  for  him  ?" 

"  Lay  down  your  life  ?"  repeated  Lopez. 
"  That  is  not  wanted.  No  !  You  have  yet 
a  long  life  to  live  in  love  and  happiness." 

"  Never !"  said  Katie,  vehemently.  "  There 
is  no  love  or  happiness  in  life  now  for  me. 
I  love  him  —  I  love  him,  and  him  only! 
Oh,  how  I  love  him !" 

Lopez  gave  a  sneering  laugh. 

"  Pardon  me,  you  are  too  facile  in  your 
loves,  senorita,  to  talk  in  that  strain.  You 
love  so  easily  that  you  will  probably  have 
many  love-affairs  in  your  happy  future. 
You  loved  Ashby,  and  in  -a  day  or  two  you 
declare  yourself  ready  to  die  for  Rivers  !" 

This  was  a  bitter  taunt,  but  Katie's  dis 
tress  was  so  deep  that  she  did  not  feel  it. 

"  Oh,  I  never  knew  love  before !"  said 
she.  "  I  thought  I  loved  Mr.  Ashby ;  but 
I  was  mistaken  —  I  never  loved  him.  It 
was  nothing ;  I  was  inexperienced.  I 
didn't  understand — I  didn't  know.  But  I 
know  now.  Oh,  I  know  all  now — all !" 

Lopez  felt  rather  pleased  at  Katie's  dec 
laration  about  Ashby.  He  did  not  believe 
her  altogether.  He  believed  that  she  had 
loved  him,  but  had  forgotten  him  while 
flirting  with  another.  If  she  had  forgotten 
Ashby  so  readily,  she  would  also  forget 
Rivers  with  equal  readiness,  and  say  quite 
as  boldly  that  she  had  never  loved  Rivers. 
This  passion  was  a  sudden  whim  —  it  was 
no  more  than  a  dream ;  she  was  hardly  in 
her  right  mind,  she  was  infatuated.  Of 
course  she  would  get  over  it.  And  he  de 
termined  to  use  his  advantages  to  the  ut 
most.  So  he  returned  to  the  subject. 

"You  see,"  said  he,  "as  long  as  Rivers 
is  here,  he  is  subject  to  the  most  deadly 
peril.  He  is  even  now  in  danger.  Do  you 
wish  to  save  him  ?" 

"  Oh  heavens !"  cried  Katie.  "  I  do  !  I 
do  I" 

"Well, then,  you  must  do  as  I  have  said." 

Katie  moaned. 

"Will  you?" 

"  Oh,  let  me  wait !    I'll  promise  anything 

—  everything;  but,  for  Heaven's  sake,  let 
me  wait  —  only  a  little,  little  time!     Oh. 
senor,  on  my  knees  I  fall  — I  pray,  as  I 
would  pray  to  Heaven,  give  me  time — time 

—  time  !   only  a  little  —  only  a  very,  very 
little  !" 

Katie  knelt ;  she  put  her  palms  together; 


she  looked  up,  as  in  prayer,  to  this  mighty 
tyrant  who  held  over  her  such  power.  Lo- 
:)ez  could  not  endure  the  sight:  it  filled 
iim  with  tender  pity,  with  grief,  with  re- 
norse.  He  began  to  yield. 

Instinctively  he  bent  down  and  took  her 
n  his  arms.  He  was  about  to  grant  her 
everything.  He  was  about  to  tell  her,  with 
:ears,  that  he  would  grant  her  years,  if  she 
would  only  promise  to  try  to  love  him. 

But  Katie  misunderstood  his  action.  The 
touch  of  his  arms  was  enough — it  was  too 
mich !  She  tore  herself  away,  and  stood 
shuddering  and  weeping. 

Lopez  felt  that  gesture  of  loathing  and 
aversion  cut  like  a  knife  to  his  inmost 
jeing.  At  once  all  tenderness,  all  pity,  de 
parted.  He  determined  to  have  no  more 
of  this  trifling. 

"Listen!"  said  he,  coldly".  "By  saving 
Rivers  I  destroy  myself.  You  must  be  my 
wife.  I  must  then  fly — do  you  hear  ? — fly 
from  Spain,  from  my  country,  from  all  I 
have  loved:  I  must  be  an  exile.  This  is 
all  for  you.  Think  of  all  that  I  give  up 
for  you!  I  cannot  postpone.  If  I  post 
pone,  my  people  will  kill  Rivers  and  my 
self  too.  The  life  of  Rivers  depends  on 
you  alone." 

Katie  said  not  a  word.  She  was  help 
less. 

"To-morrow,  early,"  said  Lopez,  "you 
must  be  mine.  Rivers  shall  be  then  set 
free." 

Without  waiting  for  any  further  words, 
Lopez  bade  her  adieu,  and  retired. 


CHAPTER   XL VIII. 

HOW    LOPEZ    GOES    TO    SEE  THE   PRIEST   ABOUT   HIS 
MARRIAGE. 

AFTER  leaving  Katie,  Lopez  decided  to 
give  notice  to  the  priest  about  the  nature 
of  the  ceremony  that  was  to  be  performed, 
and  also  to  appoint  the  time  for  its  per 
formance  on  the  following  morning. 

As  he  entered  the  room  Talbot  saw  in 
his  face  the  sign  of  some  important  pur 
pose.  At  once  she  divined  it.  She  had 
already  made  up  her  mind  as  to  what  that 
service  would  be  that  Lopez  expected  of 
her,  and  what  her  own  action  should  be. 
Brooke  also,  in  spite  of  his  plausible  ar 
guments,  was  afraid  that  she  was  only  too 
near  the  truth,  and  such  terrors  gathered 
around  the  prospect  that  he  could  not 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


147 


think  of  it.  But  now  all  suspense  was  at 
an  end.  The  truth  was  about  to  be  made 
known,  and,  whatever  it  was,  they  would 
have  to  face  it, 

"  Senor,"  said  Lopez,  addressing  himself 
to  Brooke,  yet  courteously  including  Tal- 
bot  in  his  glance,  "  I  have  now  come  to 
tell  you  why  I  have  required  thus  far  the 
company  of  your  friend  the  priest,  and  you 
may  explain  to  him  what  I  have  to  say.  It 
is  for  a  very  simple  and  pleasing  ceremony 
— namely,  a  marriage." 

"  A  marriage  1"  repeated  Brooke,  in  a 
low  voice. 

That  word,  sometimes  so  full  of  joyous 
meaning  and  so  surrounded  with  associa 
tions  of  mirth  and  festivity,  now  rang  in 
Brooke's  ears  with  a  sound  as  harsh  and 
terrible  as  that  of  a  death-knell.  It  was 
the  word  which  he  dreaded  more  than  all 
others  to  hear  from  the  lips  of  Lopez.  His 
heart  sank  within  him,  and  he  knew  not 
what  to  think,  or  where  to  turn  for  hope. 
That  Talbot  would  refuse  to  perform  this 
ceremony  he  felt  convinced,  but  what  would 
be  the  consequences  of  such  a  refusal  un 
der  such  circumstances? 

"  The  priest,"  continued  Lopez,  who  had 
not  noticed  any  difference  in  Brooke's  man 
ner,  and  was  not  at  all  aware  of  the  intense 
agitation  which  now  pervaded  all  his  frame 
— "  the  priest  will  be  ready  to  perform  the 
ceremony  at  an  early  hour  to-morrow  morn 
ing." 

"  To-morrow  morning !"  repeated  Brooke, 
mechanically. 

Worse  and  worse  !  This  man  was  hur 
rying  matters  so  that  he  did  not  leave 
any  time  for  thought,  much  less  for  action. 
To-morrow  morning,  at  an  early  hour  !  Oh, 
terrible  haste  !  Oh,  fearful  flight  of  time  ! 
Was  there,  then,  so  short  a  time  nntil  this 
new  ordeal,  with  its  new  dangers  ?  Brooke 
shuddered. 

A  sudden  thought  now  came  to  him,  at 
which  he  grasped  eagerly.  It  was  utterly 
useless,  and  he  knew  it,  but  it  was  all  that 
he  had  to  offer  against  this  man's  resolu 
tion. 

"Can  the  priest  officiate  without  the 
government  license  ?" 

"  Government  license  !"  repeated  Lopez. 
"  Of  course.  The  Church  does  not  ask  per 
mission  of  the  State  to  perform  the  solemn 
sacraments.  What  has  the  State  to  do  with 
the  acts  of  a  priest  of  the  Church  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Brooke,  deject 
edly  ;  "  it's  different  in  other  countries." 


"  Spain,"  said  Lopez,  severely  —  "  Spain 
is  a  Christian  country." 

"  True— true  ;  I  forgot,"  said  Brooke. 

"  In  an  infidel  country,"  continued  Lo 
pez,  "  like  England  or  America,  the  State 
regulates  marriage,  of  course  ;  but  it  is  dif 
ferent  in  Spain — very  different." 

Brooke  scarcely  heard  this.  He  was 
groping  about  mentally  in  search  of  an 
idea.  Another  one  carne — a  hopeless  one, 
like  the  last  —  but  he  caught  at  it,  since 
there  was  nothing  else  to  do. 

"This  priest,"  said  he,  "is  an  English 
man." 

"  Well !"  said  Lopez,  with  a  slight  ex 
pression  of  surprise. 

"I  didn't  know  but  that  it  might  make 
some  difference,"  said  Brooke,  meekly. 

"  Difference  !     How  ?" 

"  Not — not  knowing  your  language,  you 
know." 

"  My  language  !"  said  Lopez  ;  "  what 
does  that  matter  ?  He  lias  the  language 
of  the  Church,  and  that  language  every 
priest  uses  in  the  formulas  and  services 
of  the  Church,  whether  he  is  a  Spaniard,  or 
an  Englishman,  or  an  African  negro.  He 
celebrates  the  sacraments  in  the  words  laid 
down  by  the  Church,  and  the  languages 
of  the  various  nations  have  nothing  to  do 
with  these  holy  rites.  •  I  fear,  sefior,  you 
are  raising  objections  which  will  seem  as 
strange  and  unreasonable  to  your  friend, 
this  good  priest,  as  they  do  to  me." 

At  this  Brooke  was  struck  dumb.  He 
had  nothing  more  to  say. 

"  You  will  tell  your  friend,"  said  Lopez, 
"  to  be  ready  at  an  early  hour  to-morrow 
morning.  I  also  will  do  myself  the  honor, 
senor,  to  invite  you  to  give  us  the  pleas 
ure  of  your  company  on  this  occasion." 

Brooke  bowed,  and  murmured  something 
about  the  consciousness  which  he  had  of 
the  honor  that  Lopez  had  done  him ;  and 
in  the  midst  of  these  commonplaces  Lopez 
retired. 

After  his  departure  Brooke  remained  si 
lent  for  a  long  time.  Talbot  feared  the 
worst,  and  as  she  had  divined  already  the 
meaning  of  this  visit,  she  understood  per 
fectly  the  feelings  of  Brooke.  So  she  said 
not  a  word,  but  patiently  waited  until  ho 
chose  to  speak.  At  length  he  told  her  all. 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  Talbot. 

"  What  will  you  do  ?"  asked  Brooke,  in 
a  low  voice. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Talbot,  simply. 

"  Nothing  ?"  repeated  Brooke. 


148 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


"  What  can  I  do  ?" 

"  Can  you  not  do  what  he  requests  ?" 
asked  Brooke,  in  a  trembling  voice. 

"  What !  and  marry  them  ?" 

"  Why  not  ?" 

"  It  is  impossible  !"  said  Talbot,  firmly. 

*'  Oh  heavens !"  moaned  Brooke,  in  a  tone 
of  despair. 

"Oh,  Brooke,  do  not  talk  like  that!" 
said  Talbot,  entreatingly.  "  Have  I  not 
already  said  all  that  can  be  said  ?" 

"Well,"  said  Brooke,  "listen  to  reason 
for  a  moment.  Only  think  what  marriage 
is.  It  is  a  union  of  two  loving  hearts.  In 
Scotland  people  marry  themselves.  Why 
cannot  you  do  in  Spain  what  you  might 
safely  do  in  Scotland  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Talbot,  "and  in  Turkey  a 
man  may  marry  a  hundred  wives.  Why 
may  not  you  do  in  Spain  what  you  may 
safely  do  in  Turkey  ?  Oh,  Brooke !  Brooke ! 
Are  you  altogether  candid  now,  and  true 
to  your  better  self?  Do  not  tempt  me, 
Brooke.  Do  not  try  to  shake  me.  My 
mind  is  clear  on  this  point  I  cannot  do 
wrong,  not  even  to  please  you,  Brooke.'' 

As  Talbot  said  this  she  looked  at  Brooke 
with  a  glance  that  penetrated  to  his  soul. 
Her  eyes  showed  unfathomable  tenderness 
and  devotion,  yet  her  face  and  her  voice 
told  of  a  resolve  that  was  immutable. 

Then  Brooke  tried  another  tone. 

"Confound  these  Spaniards!"  he  cried. 
"Talbot!  Talbot J  Come,  why  not  marry 
this  couple  of  cursed  fools  and  have  done 
with  it?" 

Of  these  words  Talbot  took  no  notice 
whatever.  She  was  silent  for  a  time  and 
thoughtful.  Then  she  went  on  to  speak : 

"  I  know.  I  begin,  I  think,  to  under 
stand  all  about  it.  The  girl  he  means  to 
marry  is  this  English  girl,  the  daughter  of 
Mrs.  Russell.  Captain  Lopez  loved  her,  as 
we  were  told.  He  has  followed  her  here, 
and  eifected  her  deliverance  from  her  Car- 
list  captors,  and  now,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
she  feels  grateful  to  him  and  is  willing  to 
marry  him.  But  how  can  I  do  anything  ? 
I  cannot.  It  is  horrible  sacrilege.  It  is 
frightful  sin.  No;  I  will  tell  him  the 
whole  truth." 

Brooke  looked  at  her  with  a  face  of 
anguish. 

"Oh,  Talbot,"  said  he,  "if  you  do,  what 
will  become  of  you?" 

"  What  ?"  said  Talbot,  in  a  firm  voice. 

"  He  will  kill  you — and  worse  than  that," 
said  Brooke. 


"  Why  should  he  kill  me  ?"  said  Talbot. 
"  It  will  do  him  no  good.  What  cause  will 
he  have  to  kill  me  ?" 

"  I  have  thought  it  all  over,"  said  Brooke, 
"  all  over,  a  thousand  times.  I  have  spec 
ulated  as  to  the  possible  result  of  a  frank 
disclosure,  and  I've  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  it  is  better  to  run  every  risk  in  this 
disguise,  and  go  even  to  the  verge  of  death, 
rather  than  divulge  your  secret  now." 

"  Divulge  my  secret !"  said  Talbot,  in  sur 
prise.  "  And  why  not  ?  What  is  there  to 
divulge  ?  I  have  only  to  say  that  I  am  not 
a  priest — I  am  an  English  lady,  who  have 
assumed  this  disguise  as  a  safeguard." 

Brooke  sighed. 

"  It's  too  late,  too  late !  Oh,  fool  that  I 
was — cursed,  cursed  fool !  But  I  was  afraid 
to  trust  those  Republicans;  I  feared  that 
they  might  harm  you  if  they  knew  you  to 
be  a  woman.  It  was  for  your  sake  that  I 
kept  your  secret,  and  now  it  has  turned 
out  to  be  the  very  worst  thing  that  I  could 
have  done." 

"  I  deny  that  it  was  the  worst,"  said  Tal 
bot,  calmly.  "Thus  far  it  has  protected 
me  most  eifectively.  As  for  the  future,  we 
have  yet  to  choose  our  plans." 

"  Too  late  !"  said  Brooke. 

"  I  do  not  think  so,"  said  Talbot.  "  You 
do  not  give  any  reasons.  At  any  rate,  I 
will  try—" 

"  Do  not !  do  not !"  said  Brooke,  earnest 
ly.  "  It  is  too  late.  I  will  tell  you.  You 
see,  this  deception  has  gone  on  so  long,  and 
his  trust  in  you  is  so  profound,  that  the 
shock  would  be  more  than  he  could  bear. 
As  a  priest  you  have  won  his  confidence, 
even  his  reverence.  If  you  now  tell  him 
that  it  was  all  a  cheat,  his  wrath  would 
burst  forth  beyond  all  bounds.  He  would 
consider  it  an  outrage  on  his  holiest  and 
most  generous  feelings.  He  would  believe 
that  you  had  wantonly  trifled  with  all  that 
is  most  sacred  and  most  sensitive  in  the 
heart.  Then  there  is  more  than  this.  For 
some  reason  he  is  bent  on  marrying  this 
girl.  If  you  refuse  now,  and  tell  him  the 
truth,  it  will  only  intensify  his  resentment 
against  you,  and  turn  it  into  a  vengeful 
fury.  There  is  no  pain  that  he  will  not 
inflict.  There  will  be  nothing  too  horrible 
for  his  revenge.  He  will  say  that  you  de 
ceived  and  cheated  him  unnecessarily  and 
persistently;  that  even  if  there  was  a  ne 
cessity  for  it  in  the  first  place,  you  might 
at  least  have  confided  in  him  after  he  had 
shown  himself  so  merciful  to  me.  He  M'ill 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


149 


say  that  you  must  have  found  him  out  to 
be  a  chivalrous  gentleman,  in  whose  pro 
tection  you  would  have  been  safe,  and  this 
maintenance  of  your  disguise  all  this  time 
and  up  to  the  last  moment  was  a  mockery 
and  a  sham.  And  therefore,"  concluded 
Brooke,  "  every  other  resource  ought  first 
to  be  tried,  and  this  should  not  be  made 
use  of  till  all  others  have  failed.  It  will  be 
useless  at  any  time,  but  if  it  is  made  use 
of  at  all,  it  ought  to  be  last  of  all." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  Talbot,  doubt- 
fully.  "I  will  do  as  you  say,  Brooke;  but 
to  go  on  in  this  way,  and  keep  up  this  dis 
guise  till  the  last,  seems  to  me  to  involve 
certain  destruction.  I  suppose  lie  cannot 
be  persuaded  to  postpone  the  marriage." 

Brooke  shook  his  head  despondingly. 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  that  is  impossible. 
There  is  some  strong  reason  for  this  haste. 
He  has,  perhaps,  extorted  some  promise 
from  the  girl.  Perhaps  she  does  not  love 
him.  Perhaps  he  is  afraid  if  he  gives  her 
time  that  she  will  back  out  of  it,  and  is 
determined  to  marry  her  while  he  has  the 
chance." 

"  If  that  is  the  case,"  said  Talbot,  "  it 
only  makes  it  worse  for  me.  If  she  does 
not  love  him,  and  all  this  is  as  you  say, 
there  is  another  and  a  stronger  reason  for 
rny  refusal  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
such  sacrilege  and  sin." 

"  Oh,  Talbot !"  said  Brooke.  He  turned 
his  face  toward  her.  It  was  a  face  of  ago 
ny  ;  there  wras  despair  in  his  look.  "  Oh, 
Talbot !  I  could  bear  this  trial,  any  trial, 
for  myself;  but  for  you — for  you,  Talbot," 
he  continued,  in  thrilling  tones,  "  for  you 
I  cannot  bear  it.  Think !  Can  you  not  do 
something?" 

Talbot  trembled.  Her  eyes  filled  with 
tears.  For  a  time  she  stood  thus  with 
quivering  lips  and  trembling  hands,  strug 
gling  with  her  emotion,  and  without  much 
success.  When  she  was  able  at  last  to 
speak  jt  was  in  tremulous,  broken  tones. 

"  Oh,  Brooke !"  she  said,  "  for  your  sake 
I  would  do  anything,  anything ;  but  I  can 
not,  even  for  your  sake,  do  wrong  to  oth 
ers.  For  you  —  if  it  were  myself  alone 
that  were  concerned — I  might  be  tempted 
to  do  an  act  of  sacrilege — or  sin.  Ask  me 
to  suffer  for  you,  Brooke,  and  I  will  suffer : 
oh,  how  gladly  !  Yes,  Brooke,"  she  con 
tinued,  in  a  voice  that  sent  a  thrill  through 
all  his  being — "  yes,  Brooke,  ask  me  to  die 
for  you,  or  let  the  chance  arise  in  which  I 
may  die  to  save  you,  and  I  will  die.  But 


do  not  look  at  me  so,  Brooke  !  do  not  look 
at  me  so!  Your  face  is  full  of  despair; 
your  look  is  the  look  of  one  whose  heart 
is  breaking ;  and  this,  Brooke,  this  seems 
worse  than  death  !  Be  yourself,  Brooke ! 
rouse  yourself!  Cannot  you  take  refuge 
in  some  other  thoughts  ?  The  very  worst 
of  your  songs  might  rouse  you  now.  Sing, 
Brooke  —  sing  anything.  Talk  nonsense, 
and  s,ave  your  heart  and  mine  from 
breaking  1" 

Brooke  turned  away,  and  walked  up  and 
down  for  a  few  minutes,  while  he  struggled 
to  regain  his  composure.  The  struggle 
was  a  severe  one,  but  he  succeeded  in  as 
suming  an  outward  calm.  He  at  length 
returned,  and,  placing  himself  before  Tal 
bot,  gave  that  short  laugh  of  his,  and  said, 
with  some  of  his  old  rattle, 

"  Well,  Talbot  lad,  you're  more  than  half 
right.  And,  as  I've  always  said,  there's 
nothing  like  a  good  song — and  I've  lots  of 
good  songs ;  but  as  you  suggest  a  bad  song 
— in  fact,  the  worst  of  all  my  songs — why, 
I  dare  say  it  wouldn't  be  a  bad  idea  to  sing 
it.  By-the-bye,  Talbot,  you  ought  to  learn 
to  sing — at  least,  to  hum  tunes.  I'll  teach 
you  how  to  whistle,  if  you  like.  I  wonder 
if  this  Spanish  cur  likes  music.  I'll  sing 
you  a  song,  if  you  like,  and  I'll  bet  ten 
cents  you  never  heard  it  before." 

And  Brooke  sang,  to  a  most  extraordi 
nary  tune,  these  most  extraordinary  words  : 

"  Oh,  a  raggedy  gang  to  the  piper  danced, 

Of  tatterdemalions  all, 
Till  the  corpulent  butler  drove  them  off 

Beyond  the  manor  wall. 
The  raggedy  piper  shook  his  fist:, 

'A  minstrel's  curse  on  thee, 
Thou  lubberly,  duck-legg'd  son  of  a  gun, 

For  settin'  dorgs  on  we  !•'  " 

"  Brooke,"  said  Talbot,  with  her  usual 
calm,  sad  face,  "  I'm  glad  that  you  are  sing 
ing,  though  your  song  is  certainly  slightly 
vulgar." 

"  Oh,  I  know  it,"  said  Brooke ;  "  but  then 
vulgarity  is  sometimes  a  very  good  thing. 
It  don't  do  for  people  to  be  too  fastidious. 
The  fact  is,  this  age  is  over-refined,  and  I'm 
bound  to  reform  it,  or  perish." 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

HOW  LOPEZ    INVITES   HARRY   TO   HIS   WEDDING,  AND 
HOW   HARRY   MAKES   A   DISTURBANCE. 

ON  the  following  day  the  prisoners  were 
roused  at  dawn.  First  of  all,  Ashby  was 
taken  to  the  room  in  which  the  marriage 


150 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


ceremony  was  to  be  performed,  which  was 
the  same  room  where  the  Russell  party  had 
been  confined.  Half  a  dozen  soldiers  came 
for  him,  and  went  through  the  solemn 
mockery  of  treating  him  as  an  invited 
guest.  He  had  scarcely  arrived  here  when 
Harry  also  reached  the  place.  A  special 
invitation  from  Lopez  to  be  present  at  a 
wedding  had  attracted  him,  and  filled  him 
with  wonder  and  curiosity.  His  anxiety 
about  Katie,  and  his  longing  to  see  her, 
were  as  strong  as  ever,  and  the  effect  of 
these  feelings  was  manifest  in  his  pale  face 
and  agitated  manner ;  but  his  desire  to 
please  Lopez  and  retain  his  good-will  had 
drawn  him  here  to  be  a  spectator,  though 
his  abstracted  air  showed  that  his  thoughts 
were  elsewhere.  Thus,  silent  and  preoc 
cupied,  Harry  stood  apart ;  and  Ashby, 
mindful  of  their  recent  hostile  meeting, 
kept  to  himself,  and  made  no  motion  to 
ward  holding  any  communication  what 
ever. 

As  they  stood  thus,  a  third  comer  ap 
peared  upon  the  scene. 

This  was  Russell.  He  still  wore  his 
woman's  dress,  having  a  vague  idea  that 
it  might  prove  of  service  in  some  new  at 
tempt  to  escape,  though  quite  unable  to 
imagine  any  way  in  which  such  escape 
could  be  possible.  Harry,  attracted  by  this 
singular  figure,  looked  at  him,  and  recog 
nized  him  at  once,  and  the  effect  upon  him 
was  so  strong  that,  in  spite  of  his  melan 
choly,  he  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

Russell,  at  this,  threw  toward  him  a  pit 
eous  look  of  appeal,  and  then  approached 
him,  in  search  after  sympathy.  The  two 
were  soon  engaged  in  conversation,  while 
Ashby,  whom  this  ludicrous  figure  had 
very  forcibly  affected,  stood  aloof  watching 
him,  with  a  smile  on  his  face  which  he  was 
unable  to  repress. 

The  unhappy  Russell,  full  of  horror  at 
the  prospect  before  him,  still  clung  to  some 
vague  and  undefined  hopes  that  at  the  very 
last  moment  some  chance  might  intervene 
to  prevent  the  terrible  tragedy  of  a  mar 
riage  with  Rita.  The  appearance  of  Harry 
seemed  a  good  omen.  He  hailed  it  as  such  ; 
and  had  an  angel  appeared,  the  sight  could 
scarcely  have  afforded  more  joy  to  the  virt 
uous  Russell  than  that  which  he  felt  at  the 
sight  of  Harry. 

While  these  two  were  conversing,  Brooke 
appeared,  followed  by  Talbot.  Harry's  back 
was  turned  to  the  door,  so  that  he  did  not 
see  Talbot,  and  Talbot  did  not  see  his  face. 


But  even  if  Harry's  face  had  been  full  be 
fore  her,  she  would  not  have  seen  it.  With 
a  slow  step,  a  face  pale  as  marble,  and  eyes 
fixed  on  the  floor,  deep  in  thoughts  which 
were  far,  far  removed  from  this  room  and 
its  surroundings,  Talbot  entered,  following 
Brooke,  who  was  as  blind  to  the  assembled 
company  and  as  deeply  preoccupied  as 
herself.  Before  each  there  was  a  terrible 
ordeal.  As  for  Talbot,  she  was  to  be  the 
central  figure,  and  how  could  she  perform 
her  part  ?  For  Talbot  it  was  a  simple  mat 
ter  to  sum  up  the  whole  situation.  She 
could  either  consent  or  refuse.  But  for 
Brooke  there  was  a  harder  task.  It  was 
for  him  to  try  to  discover  some  way  of  sav 
ing  a  friend,  whom  to  save  was  an  impossi 
bility.  And  so  all  that  Talbot  suffered  was 
likewise  suffered  by  Brooke,  who,  in  addi 
tion,  had  his  own  peculiar  sufferings  to 
bear,  while  Talbot,  in  addition  to  her  own 
sufferings,  was  afflicted  still  more  by  the 
full  knowledge  of  all  that  Brooke  was  un 
dergoing. 

While  Harry  was  talking  with  Russell 
he  threw  a  casual  glance  around,  and 
caught  the  outline  of  Talbot's  figure.  He 
saw  —  what?  Only  the  priest,  as  he 
thought.  It  was  enough  for  him.  A  mere 
priest  was  a  profoundly  uninteresting  per 
sonage.  His  eyes  saw  no  deeper  than  the 
external  dress,  and  he  went  on  talking  with 
Russell. 

Two  or  three  more  soldiers  now  came 
in,  until  at  length  there  were  about  a  doz 
en.  All  the  other  soldiers  were  outside. 
At  any  other  time  this  unusual  ceremony 
wrould  have  attracted  a  few  idle  gazers; 
but  just  now  all  the  rest  of  the  men  were 
intent  upon  the  important  business  of 
breakfast,  which  was  just  being  ladled  out 
to  each  from  a  huge  caldron. 

Now  Rita  entered,  and  with  her  came 
Katie,  leaning  feebly  on  her  arm. 

Lopez  followed. 

At  the  sight  of  these  two  women  Russell 
and  Harry  stopped  their  conversation  ab 
ruptly.  For  each  one  the  sight  wras  an 
overwhelming  sensation.  To  Russell  it 
was  as  though  his  last  hour  had  come. 
Here  was  his  persecutor,  his  tormentor, 
who  was  resolved  to  marry  him  whether  he 
would  or  not.  He  had  confided  his  griefs 
to  Harry,  but  had  been  unable  to  obtain 
from  him  any  satisfactory  advice.  What 
should  he  do  ?  He  could  not  say ;  he 
could  not  even  think.  Could  he  dare  to 
say  "No,"  when  Lopez  and  Rita  and  the 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


151 


priest  and  all  the  soldiers  expected  "Yes?" 
Could  he  face  the  awful  result  of  disobe 
dience  to  Lopez,  of  defiance  to  Rita  ?  His 
whole  nature  shrank  back  in  terror  from 
the  thought,  and  prompted  him,  in  this 
dire  emergency,  of  two  evils  to  choose  the 
least. 

To  Harry,  also,  the  sight  of  Katie  was 
equally  overwhelming.  He  was  struck 
dumb.  He  stood  rooted  to  the  spot,  while 
wonder,  suspicion,  and  fear  all  struggled 
together  within  him. 

What  was  the  meaning  of  all  this  ?  A 
marriage  ? — a  marriage  of  this  Spanish  cap 
tain  ?  With  whom  ?  Who  was  the  bride  ? 
What  was  Katie  doing  here  ?  And  why 
was  Katie  coming  here  in  such  a  manner, 
with  downcast  eyes,  death-pale  face,  and 
drooping,  trembling  figure,  scarce  able  to 
walk,  and  leaning  so  heavily  upon  the  arm 
of  this  Spanish  woman?  Such  were  the 
questions  which  Harry,  in  his  bewilder 
ment,  asked  himself  and  could  not  answer. 
To  see  Katie  thus  was  like  the  stroke  of  a 
thunder-bolt,  and  he  was  dumb  with  won 
der.  She  came  with  no  word,  no  smile,  no 
look  for  him  ;  she  came  like  a  helpless  vic 
tim  destined  for  the  sacrifice. 

Ashby  also  saw  all  of  this!  He  had  felt 
already  the  extremest  bitterness  toward 
Katie,  yet  the  sight  of  her  now  was  power 
ful  enough  to  awaken  within  him  the  deep 
est  pity.  What  was  the  meaning  of  this  ? 
Was  Katie  the  bride  ?  Was  she  about  to 
marry  Lopez  ?  Was  this  the  revenge  which 
Lopez  had  planned  ?  It  was  manifestly 
so ;  and  yet  why  had  Katie  consented  ? 
He  could  not  understand  it.  It  seemed 
like  a  fresh  proof  of  her  frivolity  and  falsi 
ty;  and  at  such  an  exhibition  he  felt  be 
wildered.  She  had  been  false  to  him  for 
the  sake  of  Rivers ;  was  she  also  false  to 
Rivers  for  the  sake  of  Lopez  ? 

And  yet,  in  spite  of  such  thoughts  as 
these,  Ashby  was  full  of  pity  for  her.  He 
could  not  help  it.  And  justly  so  ;  for  hard 
indeed  must  that  heart  have  been  which 
could  have  remained  unmoved  at  such  a 
sight.  Never  was  a  bride  seen  more  de 
spairing.  There  was  agony  in  her  face, 
and  in  her  attitude,  and  in  her  gestures. 
It  was  not  a  bride  that  he  saw ;  it  was  a 
victim.  It  was  an  altar  of  sacrifice  upon 
which  Katie  was  to  be  offered  up — not  an 
altar  of  love. 

And  thus  Ashby,  like  Harry,  stood  over 
whelmed  at  this  unexpected  sight. 

Harry  felt  an  almost  irrepressible  im 


pulse  to  spring  forward  and  greet  her,  but 
something  there  was  in  her  look  which  de 
terred  him.  It  was  her  face  of  despair,  her 
attitude  of  utter  weakness  and  prostration, 
her  downcast  eyes,  her  averted  look.  He 
could  not  move  ;  he  was  petrified.  There 
came  over  him  something  like  a  feeling  of 
horror.  He  shuddered  at  the  sight.  All 
his  thoughts  and  all  his  soul  were  fixed  on 
her,  while  he  kept  asking  himself,  What  is 
this  ?  What  does  it  mean  ?  A  marriage  ? 
And  is  this  the  bride — Katie  ? 

Meanwhile  Lopez  had  taken  up  a  posi 
tion  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room,  and, 
looking  around  with  a  sarcastic  smile,  be 
gan  to  make  a  few  remarks  : 

"  Senors,"  said  he,  "  I  have  done  myself 
the  honor  of  requesting  your  company  on 
this  occasion,  so  as  to  have  your  presence 
on  the  happiest  moment  of  my  life,  on  the 
joyful  moment  when  I  am  to  be  united  in 
the  holy  bonds  of  matrimony  to  one  whom 
I  have  long  loved,  and  whom  I  have  at  last 
won  by  rescuing  her  from  a  fearful  peril. 
I  shall  expect  your  warmest  congratula 
tions;  but  however  warm  they  may  be, 
they  cannot  be  adequate  to  the  occasion 
that  calls  them  forth." 

At  this  speech  Harry  stood  transfixed. 
Then  his  whole  nature  and  aspect  changed 
instantly  and  utterly.  His  face  grew  death- 
white,  there  glowed  a  burning  spot  on  each 
cheek,  and  his  eyes,  as  he  stared  at  Lopez, 
blazed  with  the  fury  of  a  madman. 

"  Senor,"  said  he,  feverishly  and  in  a  loud 
voice,  "  who  is  the  lady  ?" 

Lopez  smiled  scornfully,  and  took  Katie's 
cold  hand  in  his. 

"  This,"  said  he, "  is  the  lady — my  chosen 
bride." 

Scarce  was  the  action  done,  scarce  were 
the  words  spoken,  when  Harry's  hand, 
quick  as  lightning,  had  plunged  into  his 
breast  pocket  and  snatched  forth  a  revolv 
er.  In  an  instant  it  was  levelled.  Lopez 
saw  the  act,  and  with  rapid  presence  of 
mind  dropped  Katie's  hand  and  flung  him 
self  flat  on  the  floor. 

At  the  same  instant  two  shots  in  imme 
diate  succession  came  from  Harry's  revolv 
er.  In  another  instant  Lopez  was  on  his 
feet,  and  had  bounded  against  his  assail 
ant.  A  fierce  struggle  followed.  Harry 
hurled  Lopez  to  the  floor ;  but  the  soldiers 
rushed  up,  and  those  without,  hearing  the 
noise,  hurried  in.  All  was  the  wildest  con 
fusion,  in  the  midst  of  which  was  Harry 
struggling  like  a  wild  beast  with  overpow- 


152 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


ering  numbers.  He  was  at  length  held 
fast  by  the  fierce  soldiers,  who  wished  to 
kill  him  on  the  spot,  but  were  restrained 
by  Lopez. 

"  Tie  his  hands  behind  him,"  he  cried,  in 
a  loud  voice,  "  and  leave  him  here.  Don't 
hurt  him.  It's  nothing  at  all.  It's  all  a 
mistake." 

But  amidst  the  crowd  of  those  who  rush 
ed  upon  Harry,  Katie,  with  a  wild  scream, 
had  flung  herself;  and  as  they  now  retreat 
ed  at  the  command  of  their  leader,  she 
caught  her  prostrate  lover  in  her  arms,  and 
fainted.  Lopez  dragged  her  away  rudely. 
Harry,  with  his  hands  tied  behind  him, 
rose  up  and  looked  all  around  in  despair. 

Amidst  that  wild  uproar,  Talbot  had 
been  roused  from  her  deep  abstraction. 
She  looked  up,  and  as  the  struggle  sub 
sided  she  saw  rising  full  before  her  out  of 
the  crowd  of  combatants  the  face  of  Harry 
Rivers.  She  recognized  it,  and  there  came 
over  her  heart  a  cold  shudder,  followed  by 
a  dark  despair,  in  comparison  with  which 
her  late  troubles  now  seemed  trivial. 

For  this  was  Harry  Rivers,  the  man  for 
whose  sake  she  had  come  to  Spain  I 


CHAPTER  L. 

HOW    LOPEZ    INVITES    THE    PRIEST    TO    MARRY    HIM, 
AND   HOW  THE   PRIEST   MAKES   A   DISTURBANCE. 

ALL  was  wild  confusion. 

Katie  had  fainted,  and  Rita  was  endeav 
oring  to  bring  her  back  to  consciousness. 
Russell  stood  amazed  and  bewildered.  His 
chief  fear  now  was  one  of  being  implicated 
in  this  mad  outbreak  of  Rivers,  who  had 
been  his  companion  in  the  train  and  in  the 
castle,  and  might  be  taken  as  his  confidant. 

Talbot  stood  staring  at  Harry  in  wonder 
and  in  dark  perplexity.  Harry,  however, 
saw  her  not;  but  thought  only  of  Katie, 
whom  he  had  failed  to  save.  Struggles 
now  were  useless.  He  could  only  fall  back 
on  despair. 

Brooke  noticed  a  new  expression  on  Tal- 
bot's  face,  and  marvelled,  but  thought  it 
merely  arose  from  natural  wonder  or  nat 
ural  sympathy  with  this  unhappy  man, 
who  by  his  madness  had  rushed  upon  his 
doom. 

Ashby  meanwhile  stood  calm.  He  saw 
and  understood  the  act  of  Harry  and  Ka 
tie.  He  wondered  somewhat  to  find  that 
their  acquaintance  had  gone  so  far.  He 


knew  that  both  had  been  false  to  him,  but 
had  no  idea  that  either  had  grown  to  feel 
such  passionate  love  for  the  other.  And 
there  came  over  him  a  passing  feeling  of 
jealous  anger,  together  with  a  natural  in 
dignation  at  the  baseness  of  these  two — the 
one  his  love,  the  other  his  friend — who  had 
both  betrayed  him.  So  lie  looked  with 
cold  complacency  upon  their  woes,  and 
thought  that  they  were  both  receiving  such 
severe  retribution  that  he  had  no  need  for 
further  revenge. 

Lopez,  having  seen  that  Harry's  hands 
were  firmly  bound,  turned  to  Katie,  who 
at  length  came  to  her  senses,  and  looked 
all  around  with  a  shudder.  He  was  anx 
ious  to  soothe  her,  so  as  to  finish  the  cere 
mony. 

"  Be  calm,"  he  said,  in  a  low  whisper, 

"  for  his  sake.     He  may  even  yet  be  saved 

|  — I  swear  it.     If  you  perform  your  promise 

i  I  will  forgive  him.     As  you  value  your  life, 

!  control  yourself.     If  these  men  understand 

how  it  is,  they  will  kill  him  on  the  spot." 

At  these  words  Katie  shuddered  the 
more,  and  with  a  violent  effort  attained  to 
something  like  calmness.  She  then  stood 
up,  more  tremulous  and  weak  than  ever, 
and  stood  thus,  leaning  upon  Rita,  without 
daring  to  encounter  Harry's  look. 

"  The  ceremony  shall  go  on,"  said  Lopez, 
aloud.  "This  fool's- play  shall  not  stop 
it." 

"Keep  calm,"  he  whispered  to  Katie; 
"  his  life  now  depends  on  you  altogether.'" 

Harry  still  stood  there,  with  soldiers 
around  him,  his  hands  bound,  his  face 
bloodless,  but  with  the  eyes  of  a  madman. 

"Senor,"  said  Lopez,  coolly,  "I  had  no 
idea  that  you  were  a  lunatic.  You  must 
submit  to  temporary  restraint." 

Harry  made  no  reply.  He  looked  all 
around,  as  though  trying  to  see  if  there 
might  be  any  signs  of  sympathy  in  the 
faces  of  the  others,  as  though  seeking  in 
his  despair  for  some  faint  ray  of  hope.  He 
saw  the  cold  sneer  of  Ashby ;  he  saw  the 
fierce  frown  of  Lopez;  he  saw  the  trem 
bling  figure  of  Russell ;  he  saw  the  anx 
ious  face  of  Brooke ;  and  then,  last  of  all, 
he  saw— Talbot ! 

This  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  got  a 
sight  of  her  face.  In  that  instant,  in  spite 
of  her  disguise,  there  came  in  one  flash  the 
recognition  of  the  whole  truth.  He  saw 
that  she  had  been  lost — had  been  captured 
— had  put  on  this  disguise.  At  this  dis 
covery  there  followed  within  him  nothing 


HARRY,  WITH    HIS    HANDS    TIED    BEHIND   HIM,  ROSE    UP,  AND    LOOKED    ALL    AROUND    IN    DESPAIR.' 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


153 


less  than  a  complete  paralysis  of  thought 
and  feeling.  In  the  shock  of  his  sudden 
amazement  he  could  only  ejaculate  in  half- 
audible  tones  the  one  word — "  Sydney  !" 

Lopez  heard  this,  but  did  not  understand 
it.  He  wondered  why  Harry  should  ex 
hibit  such  emotion  at  the  sight  of  the 
priest,  but  hastily  concluded  that  it  was 
some  more  of  his  wild  and  insane  excite 
ment  over  this  marriage  ceremony. 

Brooke  heard  it,  and  stared  in  bewilder 
ment  first  at  one  and  then  at  the  other. 

Talbot  stood  as  before.  She  moved  not, 
she  spoke  not,  she  was  stolid  and  stiff,  like 
a  statue  of  ice ;  but  there  was  in  her  face 
a  new  horror — it  was  the  face  of  one  who 
sees  a  ghost. 

To  both  of  these  it  was  a  terrible  mo 
ment.  For  Talbot  saw  Harry,  and  Harry 
saw  Talbot,  and  each  recognized  the  other 
fully,  though  neither  ventured  to  address 
the  other.  This,  then,  was  the  meeting  of 
those  two  who  had  once  loved  and  ex 
changed  vows;  who  had  suffered  and  re 
joiced  together;  who  had  parted  in  sor 
row,  and  looked  forward  to  a  reunion  with 
joy;  who  but  a  short  time  since  had  de 
sired  nothing  so  much  as  the  sight  of  each 
other;  this  was  their  meeting  and  thus  it 
took  place,  at  the  very  climax  of  that  new 
and  more  passionate  love  which  had  been 
conceived  by  each  for  another ! 

Had  Harry  only  recognized  her  a  few 
minutes  before,  the  sight  would  have  ef 
fectually  chilled  his  hot  blood  and  saved 
him  from  his  mad  assault  on  Lopez.  He 
was  calm,  enough  now,  however,  and  this 
wTas  quite  sufficient  for  the  latter. 

"Seiior,"  said  he,  "you  deserve  to  be 
shot  on  the  spot  without  mercy,  but  out  of 
regard  for  this  lady  and  at  her  solicitation 
I  spare  you.  And  now,  senor  priest,  let  the 
ceremony  begin,  for  this  lady  seems  feeble." 

Lopez  waited,  expecting  Brooke  to  trans 
late  this  to  Talbot. 

Brooke  hesitated. 

Lopez,  in  surprise,  repeated  his  words. 
"  Why  do  you  not  interpret  ?"  he  added. 

It  was  the  crisis  of  Talbot's  fate.  How 
could  Brooke  decide  ?  Why  should  he 
interpret  at  all  ?  Should  he  do  this  ?  No ; 
better  draw  upon  himself  the  wrath  of  Lo 
pez.  And  yet  what  could  he  accomplish 
by  a  refusal  to  interpret  ?  These  other  pris 
oners  could  act.  They  understood  Spanish 
as  well  as  English.  Such  wrere  the  questions 
in  Brooke's  rnind,  and  he  could  not  decide. 

Suddenly  the   decision  on  this  matter 


was  taken  away  altogether,  and  adopted 
by  Talbot  herself.  She  would  not  let  the 
vengeful  wrath  of  Lopez  fall  on  Brooke  or 
on  any  other  than  herself.  She  understood 
his  feelings  fully,  and  therefore,  to  put  an 
end  to  all  suspense,  she  took  the  matter  in 
her  own  hands. 

She  therefore  came  close  up  to  Lopez, 
and  fixed  her  large,  dark,  solemn  eyes 
sternly  yet  mournfully  upon  his.  Her  face 
bore  witness  to  a  resolution  that  was  im 
mutable.  Lopez  could  read  its  expression 
and  see  all  that  was  in  her  mind. 

She  pointed  to  Katie,  then  to  herself, 
and  then  to  him.  Then  looking  fixedly  at 
him,  she  shook  her  head  violently  and  with 
emphasis,  and  then  hurled  the  breviary 
upon  the  floor.  The  act  and  the  expres 
sion  were  more  eloquent  than  words.  Lo 
pez  understood  all  perfectly.  His  eyes 
flashed  with  just  indignation,  and  a  savage 
smile  came  over  his  face. 

"  Oho,  senor  priest,"  said  he ;  "  so  you 
think  that  because  I  have  once  or  twice 
restrained  my  anger,  that  I  can  be  set  at 
defiance  with  impunity !  I'm  tired  of  being 
magnanimous ;  so  let  me  tell  you  that  how 
ever  merciful  I  have  been  before,  I  will 
show  none  now.  You  must  go  on.  I  will 
allow  of  no  hesitation.  Tell  him  that," 
he  added,  to  Brooke. 

"  He  says,"  said  Brooke, "  that  you  must 
obey." 

Talbot  scarcely  heard  this. 

She  never  moved  her  eyes  from  Lopez; 
she  simply  shook  her  head,  with  her  im 
mutable  resolve  as  visible  as  ever.  Lopez 
could  see  that  the  priest,  for  some  motive 
or  other,  was  bent  on  self-sacrifice. 

He  took  out  his  watch.  "  I'll  allow  five 
minutes,"  said  he,  "  for  decision.  If  at  the 
end  of  that  time  you  refuse,  I  will  blow  out 
your  brains  with  my  own  hand.  Tell  him 
that." 

"  Senor  captain,"  said  Brooke,  impetu 
ously,  "  let  me  say  one  word." 

"  Translate  for  me,  I  say  !" 

"  One  word  first." 

"Not  one  —  obey  me!"  cried  Lopez,  in 
fury. 

"  Senor  captain,"  said  Brooke,  not  heed 
ing  him,  "  this  is  a  priest.  It  is  a  matter 
of  conscience." 

"  Silence  !"  roared  Lopez.  "  Tell  him 
what  I  said.  His  time  will  soon  be  up  !" 

Brooke  turned  to  Talbot. 

"  He'll  only  give  you  five  minutes,  Tal 
bot,"  said  he.  "  I'll  try  to  dissuade  him." 


154 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


"No  use,  Brooke,"  said  Talbot,  mourn 
fully.  "  I  came  prepared  for  this." 

Brooke  turned  again  to  Lopez. 

"The  priest  says  that  his  vows  forbid 
him  to  blaspheme  the  holy  sacrament  of 
marriage  in  this  way.  He  says  he  will  die 
rather  than  risk  his  soul  by  an  act  of  sac 
rilege." 

"  A  curse  on  his  soul !"  cried  Lopez. 
"What  do  I  care!" 

"  Look  out  for  your  own  soul !"  cried 
Brooke. 

"Aha!  are  you  too  a  priest?  Beware, 
sir  !  your  life  is  already  in  peril." 

At  this  moment  Plarry  cried  out  in  a 
loud  voice, 

"  Stop,  Captain  Lopez — stop,  for  God's 
sake !  This  is  a  mistake — a  terrible  mis 
take." 

Lopez  turned  round  in  a  fury. 

"  Gag  that  devil  1"  he  roared. 

In  a  moment  the  soldiers  had  seized 
Harry  and  bound  a  bandage  over  his 
mouth,  by  which  they  effectually  stopped 
any  further  remarks. 

The  last  chance  yet  remained  which 
Brooke  might  seize  for  Talbot — it  was  to 
divulge  her  secret  and  tell  about  her  dis 
guise.  To  divulge  it  to  this  enraged  and 
furious  chieftain  might  now  only  render 
him  ten  times  more  furious  and  vengeful ; 
it  might  only  aggravate  the  doom  of  the 
prisoner;  but  the  risk  must  be  run. 

"  Stop  !"  cried  Brooke.  "  Senor  captain, 
listen.  It's  a  mistake —  She  is — 

"Silence,"  roared  Lopez,  "or  I'll  blow 
your  brains  out !" 

"  Senor,  this  priest  is  not — " 

"  Seize  this  fellow !"  yelled  Lopez.  "  Bind 
him!  Gag  him!" 

Several  of  the  men  sprang  toward  Brooke, 
who  struggled  madly,  shouting  at  the  same 
time  words  which  soon  were  drowned  in 
the  uproar  that  followed. 

Lopez  now  snatched  a  rifle  from  one  of 
his  men.  Katie  gave  a  loud  scream  ;  Rus 
sell  fell  on  his  knees ;  Ashby  shuddered. 

Lopez  took  deadly  aim  at  Talbot. 

"  Your  time  is  up  !"  he  said,  coolly. 

Talbot  stood  motionless,  with  a  face  of 
marble  and  an  attitude  perfectly  rigid; 
not  a  nerve  quivered  as  she  looked  into 
the  muzzle  of  the  rifle,  but  her  lips  moved 
as  if  she  were  murmuring  a  prayer. 


CHAPTER  LI. 


IN    WHICH     AN     INTERRUPTION     OCCURS     IN    A    MAR 
RIAGE    CEREMONY. 

TALBOT  stood;  the  rifle  was  levelled  at 
her;  Lopez  had  taken  deadly  aim;  his  fin 
ger  was  on  the  trigger;  she  felt  that  her 
last  hour  had  come,  and  that  naught  could 
avail  her  now  but  prayer. 

Brooke  was  struggling  like  a  madman. 
Two  of  the  soldiers  had  been  hurled  to  the 
floor ;  another  was  clinging  to  his  neck  ; 
a  fourth  was  savagely  trying  to  gouge  out 
his  eyes. 

Lopez  pulled  the  trigger.  The  report 
rang  through  the  hall. 

At  that  very  instant,  as  the  fire  and 
smoke  went  flashing  and  blazing  at  Tal 
bot — or  rather,  the  very  instant  before — a 
figure  dashed  toward  her.  R  was  Brooke. 
By  one  supreme  and  convulsive  effort  he 
had  torn  himself  away  from  his  assailants, 
and  with  one  great  bound  had  flung  him 
self  at  Talbot.  At  the  rush  which  he  made 
she  fell  backward,  and  the  next  instant 
Brooke  fell  upon  her.  Talbot  then  strug 
gled  up  to  her  feet,  and  through  the  dense 
clouds  of  smoke  reached  down  to  raise  up 
Brooke.  He  was  senseless. 

With  a  low  moan  like  the  cry  of  a  suffer 
ing  animal,  Talbot  threw  herself  upon  the 
senseless  form.  From  his  forehead  there 
trickled  several  streams  of  blood  which  fell 
to  the  floor  in  a  pool.  She  pressed  her 
lips  again  and  again  to  the  wound,  and 
then  through  the  dense  smoke  she  rose 
and  looked  around,  confronting  Lopez 
with  the  blood  of  Brooke's  wounds  stain 
ing  all  her  face.  It  was  a  face  beautiful 
in  its  marble  whiteness  as  the  face  of  a 
statue  of  Athena ;  yet  terrible  in  the  fixed 
and  stony  horror  of  its  eyes,  and  in  the 
blood -streaks  that  covered  it,  and  in  the 
incarnate  hate  of  its  expression — terrible  in 
all  this  as  the  Gorgon  face  of  Medusa. 

Lopez  shrank  back :  his  vengeance  was 
satisfied,  his  fury  had  all  subsided,  and 
there  flashed  through  every  nerve  a  thrill 
of  horror.  It  was  then  to  him  as  though 
the  dead  —  the  priest  whom  he  had  just 
slain — had  sprung  up  by  an  immediate  res 
urrection  from  death  to  punish  him  for 
such  atrocious  sacrilege.  All  the  supersti 
tion  of  his  Spanish  nature  now  rolled  in 
one  wave  over  his  soul,  overwhelming  it 
with  panic  fear.  The  dead  !  the  dead  !  he 
thought — the  priest  with  the  angel  face- 
murdered  because  he  would  not  sin  —  it 


"  SHE   HURLED    THE    BREVIARY    UPON    THE    FLOOR.' 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


155 


was  lie !  But  the  angel  face  was  now  the 
awful  head  of  a  haunting  and  avenging 
demon. 

And  now  at  this  very  instant,  while  the 
smoke  wras  still  hanging  in  dense  folds 
half-way  between  floor  and  ceiling ;  while 
Brooke  still  lay  in  his  blood;  while  Tal- 
bot  still  glared  in  fury  upon  Lopez ;  at  this 
very  moment  there  arose  a  wild  cry — sud 
den,  menacing,  irresistible— by  which  the 
whole  face  of  the  scene  was  changed. 

"  Viva  el  Key  !" 

Such  was  the  cry  that  now  sounded  out 
in  the  midst  of  the  amazed  Republicans. 
There  was  a  rush  and  a  trample.  Then 
followed  the  thunder  of  rifles,  and  through 
the  smoke  dusky  figures  were  visible,  rush 
ing  to  and  fro. 

Once  again,  once  more,  and  again,  and 
yet  again,  report  after  report  rang  out. 
All  the  room  was  dense  with  smoke,  and 
in  that  thick  darkness  nothing  was  visi 
ble;  but  voices  yelled  in  fear,  and  other 
voices  shouted  in  triumph  ;  while  far  above 
all  sounded  the  war-cry,  "Viva  el  Key!1' 
"  Down  with  the  rebels !"  "  No  quarter !" 

Shrieks  arose  in  the  hall  without.  Then 
cries  followed—- "  Treason  !  treason  !  We 
are  betrayed!  Fly!  fly!"  These  words 
were  screamed  in  the  shrill  tones  of  a 
woman.  The  terror  of  that  cry  communi 
cated  itself  to  all.  A  universal  trample 
and  a  rush  succeeded,  and  the  whole  band 
of  Republicans,  in  mad  panic,  fled  away. 

Out  they  went,  that  panic-stricken  band, 
into  the  court-yard,  and  out  through  the 
gates,  and  afar  away  through  the  open 
country,  each  one  seeking  his  own  safety, 
and  hearing  in  his  disordered  fancy  the 
sound  behind  him  of  hot  pursuit.  There 
was  no  pursuit — no  enemy  followed  close 
behind ;  but  in  that  crowd  of  panic-strick 
en  fugitives  each  heard  the  swift  rush  and 
the  quick  trampling  footfalls  of  all  the 
rest ;  and  as  none  dared  to  look  back,  so 
all  continued  to  run ;  and  so  they  ran,  and 
ran,  and  ran,  and  they  have  probably  been 
keeping  it  up  ever  since,  unless,  indeed, 
they  thought  better  of  it,  and  concluded  to 
stop  and  rest. 

The  reason  why  there  was  no  pursuit  is 
a  very  simple  one.  The  fact  is,  the  attack 
ing  force  amounted  to  no  more  than  six, 
these  six  being  no  others  than  our  friends 
the  imprisoned  Carlists,  headed  by  the  in 
trepid,  the  ardent,  the  devoted,  the  plucky 
little  Spanish  maid  Dolores.  She  had  con 
trived  to  pick  up  some  stray  arms  and  am 


munition  with  which  she  had  supplied  her 
Carlist  friends,  and,  waiting  for  some  op 
portune  moment,  had  made  a  sudden  rush, 
like  Gideon  upon  the  Midianites,  with  the 
startling  results  above  described. 

But  let  us  on  with  our  story. 

The  smoke  rolled  away,  and  there  was 
disclosed  a  new  scene. 

Two  or  three  wounded  Republicans  lay 
writhing  on  the  floor.  Lopez  lay  near, 
bound  tight,  and  surrounded  by  the  six 
Carlists,  who,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  insulted 
their  captive  by  fierce  threats  and  unnec^ 
essary  taunts.  At  all  this  Lopez  seemed 
unmoved,  though  the  expression  of  his 
face  was  by  no  means  a  happy  one. 

It  is  a  very  annoying  thing,  my  reader, 
when  you  are  bringing  in  your  long  suit, 
and  the  game  appears  to  be  all  your  own, 
to  have  it  all  changed  by  the  interposition 
of  a  miserable  trump,  on  the  existence  of 
which  you  had  not  reckoned ;  and  then  to 
leave  the  role  of  Conquering  Hero,  and 
change  the  part  of  victor  for  that  of  van 
quished,  requires  so  many  high  moral  qual 
ities  that  few  can  be  reasonably  expected  to 
exhibit  them  in  such  a  wicked  world  as  this. 

And  here  there  is  an  excellent  oppor 
tunity  to  pause  and  moralize;  but,  on  the 
whole,  perhaps  it  is  better  to  proceed. 

Very  well,  then. 

There  was  Dolores,  and  she  was  clinging 
to  Ash  by  in  a  perfect  abandon  of  joy.  She 
had  found  him !  that  was  bliss  indeed. 
She  had  saved  him !  that  was  joy  almost 
too  great  for  endurance.  The  impetuous 
and  ardent  nature  of  Dolores,  which  made 
her  so  brave,  made  her  also  the  slave  of  her 
changing  moods ;  and  so  it  was  that  the 
heroine  who  had  but  lately  led  that  wild 
charge  on  to  victory  now  sobbed  and  wept 
convulsively  in  Ashby's  arms.  As  for  Ash- 
by,  he  no  longer  seemed  made  of  stone. 
He  forgot  all  else  except  the  one  fact  that 
Dolores  had  come  back  to  him.  Lopez 
might  have  perceived,  if  he  had  leisure  for 
such  observations,  that  Ashby's  English 
phlegm  formed  but  a  part  of  his  character; 
and  the  sight  of  that  young  man's  rapture 
over  Dolores  might  have  made  him  think 
the  English  a  fickle  and  volatile  race. 

The  scene  disclosed  Harry  and  Katie  also 
in  an  equally  tender  situation ;  for  Harry's 
bonds  had  been  cut,  and  he  had  flown  at 
once  to  Katie's  side.  But  the  prostration 
consequent  upon  all  this  excitement  was 
so  great  that  he  found  it  necessary  to  carry 
her  to  the  open  air. 


156 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


Dolores  now  roused  herself. 

"  Come,"  said  she,  "  let  us  close  the  gates 
before  they  rally." 

With  these  words  she  hurried  out,  fol 
lowed  by  Ashby.  Then  the  Carlists  fol 
lowed. 

Russell  still  remained.  As  yet  he  could 
scarcely  believe  in  his  good-fortune.  Over 
and  over  again  had  he  felt  himself  care 
fully  all  over  to  assure  himself  that  no  bul 
let  had  penetrated  any  part  of  his  precious 
skin,  and  gradually  the  sweet  conviction 
of  his  soundness  pervaded  his  inner  man. 
Then  there  was  another  joyful  discovery, 
which  was  that  Rita  had  disappeared.  In 
the  wild  tumult  and  dense  smoke  he  had 
lost  sight  of  her.  What  had  become  of 
her  he  could  not  imagine.  Whether  she 
had  fled  in  the  wild  panic,  or  had  remain 
ed  and  concealed  herself,  he  could  not  say. 
His  knowledge  of  her  character  made  him 
dread  the  worst,  and  he  felt  sure  that  she 
was  not  very  far  away.  So  he  thought 
that  the  safest  place  for  himself  would  be 
as  near  as  possible  to  those  Carlists  whom 
Rita  had  betrayed,  and  whom  she  now 
justly  dreaded  more  than  anything  else. 
So  he  hurried  out  after  the  noble  six. 

On  the  floor  Brooke  lay,  and  there  Tal- 
bot  was  seated,  holding  his  head  on  her 
lap.  He  was  senseless,  yet  she  could  feel 
that  his  heart  was  beating,  and  in  that  pul 
sation  she  found  her  hope.  His  wounds 
did  not  seem  deep,  for  she  had  felt  with 
tender  fingers  along  the  place  where  the 
blood  was  flowing,  without  detecting  any 
thing  that  seemed  formidable.  Still,  the 
sight  of  his  prostrate  and  bleeding  form, 
as  he  lay  senseless  in  her  arms,  after  he 
had  flung  his  life  away  for  her  sake,  was 
one  that  moved  her  so  profoundly  that  all 
the  world  for  her  was  now  at  that  moment 
centred  in  that  prostrate  figure  with  the 
poor,  piteous,  bleeding  head.  With  tender 
hands  she  wiped  away  the  blood  that  still 
oozed  from  the  wound  and  trickled  down 
his  face ;  more  tenderly  still  she  bowed 
down  low  over  that  unconscious  head  and 
kissed  the  dear  wounds  that  had  been  re 
ceived  for  her,  and  thus  hung  over  him  in 
a  rapture  of  love  and  an  agony  of  despair. 

Lopez  saw  this  and  wondered,  and  look 
ed  on  in  still  increasing  wonder,  till  this 
was  all  that  he  saw,  and  all  else  was  for 
gotten  in  a  sudden  great  light  that  flashed 
into  his  mind. 

He  saw  it  all.  "  So  this,"  he  thought, 
"  was  the  reason  why  these  two  held  such 


self-sacrificing  affection ;  this  was  the  rea 
son  why  one  would  persist  in  risking  every 
thing  for  the  other.  The  priest  would  not 
leave  the  spy  when  freedom  was  offered ; 
the  priest  had  stood  before  the  spy.  inter 
posing  between  him  and  the  bullets;  the 
spy  had  flung  himself  into  the  jaws  of 
death  to  save  the  priest.  Priest !  Ah,  thou 
of  the  angel  face !  thou,  so  calm  in  the 
presence  of  death  for  thy  beloved !  thou ! 
no  angel,  no  demon,  but  a  woman,  with  a 
woman's  heart  of  hearts,  daring  all  things 
for  thy  love !" 

A  mighty  revolution  took  place  in  the 
breast  of  Lopez.  Bound  as  he  was,  he 
struggled  to  his  feet  and  then  dropped  on 
his  knees  before  Talbot.  He  then  bent 
down  and  examined  Brooke  very  carefully. 
Then  he  looked  up,  nodded,  and  smiled. 
Then  he  kissed  Talbot's  hand.  Then  he 
again  smiled  as  if  to  encourage  her. 

Talbot  caught  at  the  hint  and  the  hope 
that  was  thus  held  out.  Lopez  was  offer 
ing  his  assistance.  She  accepted  it.  She 
determined  to  loose  his  bonds.  True,  he 
might  fly  on  the  instant,  and  bring  back 
all  his  men ;  but  the  preservation  of  Brooke 
was  too  important  a  thing  to  admit  of  a 
moment's  hesitation.  Besides,  had  she  not 
already  discovered  that  this  Spaniard  had 
a  heart  full  of  noble  and  tender  emotions? 
that  he-  was  at  once  heroic  and  compassion 
ate,  and  one  on  whose  honor  she  might 
rely  to  the  uttermost  ? 

With  a  small  penknife  she  quickly  cut 
his  bonds. 

Lopez  was  free. 

But  Lopez  remained.  He  bent  over 
Brooke.  He  raised  him  up  to  a  more  com 
fortable  position,  and  examined  him  in  a 
way  which  showed  both  skill  and  experi 
ence. 

Then  he  suddenly  rose  and  left  the 
room.  Talbot  heard  his  footsteps  outside. 
Was  he  escaping  ?  she  asked  herself,  and 
her  answer  was,  No. 

She  was  right.  In  a  few  moments  Lo 
pez  carne  back  with  some  cold  water.  He 
bathed  Brooke's  head,  loosened  his  neck 
cloth,  and  rubbed  his  hands  as  skilfully  as 
a  doctor  and  as  tenderly  as  a  nurse. 

At  length  Brooke  drew  a  long  breath, 
then  opened  his  eyes,  and  looked  around 
with  a  bewildered  air.  Then  he  sat  up 
and  stared.  He  saw  Lopez,  no  longer  stern 
and  hostile,  but  surveying  him  with  kindly 
anxiety.  He  saw  Talbot,  her  face  all  stain 
ed  with  blood,  but  her  eyes  fixed  on  him, 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


157 


glowing  with  love  unutterable  and  radiant 
with  joy. 

"  Oh,  Brooke,"  said  she,  "  tell  him  to  fly  ! 
He  is  free— tell  him." 

Not  understanding  any  of  the  circum 
stances  around  him,  Brooke  obeyed  Tal- 
bot  mechanically,  and  translated  her  words 
simply  as  she  had  spoken  them. 

"  Fly !"  said  he ;  "  you  are  free." 

A  flush  of  joy  passed  over  the  face  of 
Lopez. 

"  Noblest  of  ladies  !"  said  he,  looking 
reverentially  at  Talbot,  "I  take  my  life  from 
you,  and  will  never  forget  you  till  my  dy 
ing  day.  Farewell !  farewell !" 

And  with  these  words  he  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  LII. 

IN   WHICH   TALBOT   TAKES   OFF   HER  DISGUISE. 

BROOKE  and  Talbot  were  now  alone;  for, 
though  there  were  one  or  two  wounded  in 
the  room,  yet  these  were  too  much  taken 
up  with  their  own  pains  to  think  of  any 
thing  else. 

Brooke's  wound,  after  all,  turned  out  to 
be  but  slight.  The  bullet  had  grazed  his 
skull,  making  a  furrow  through  the  scalp 
of  no  greater  depth  than  the  skin,  and  car 
rying  away  a  pathway  of  hair.  The  sud 
den  and  sharp  force  of  such  a  blow  had 
been  sufficient  to  fell  him  to  the  floor  and 
leave  him  senseless ;  but,  upon  reviving,  it 
did  not  take  a  very  long  time  for  him  to 
regain  his  strength  and  the  full  use  of  his 
faculties.  The  traces  of  the  blow  were 
soon  effaced,  and  Brooke  at  last  showed 
himself  to  be  very  little  the  worse  for  his 
adventure.  His  face  was  marked  here  and 
there  by  spots  from  the  powder;  but  the 
blood -stains  were  quickly  washed  away, 
and  his  head  was  bound  up  in  a  narrow 
bandage  made  of  Talbot's  handkerchief. 
His  hat,  which  had  fallen  off  during  his 
struggles  with  the  soldiers,  was  now  recov 
ered,  and  as  it  was  of  soft  stuff  he  was  able 
to  wear  it. 

"  With  this,"  said  he,  "  Brooke  is  himself 
again." 

Talbot  now  proceeded  to  wash  the  blood 
stains  from  her  own  face. 

"That  looks  better,"  said  Brooke. 
"  Streaks  of  blood  did  not  improve  your 
personal  appearance." 

He  tried  to  speak  in  his  usual  careless 
tone,  but  his  voice  was  tremulous  and  agi 
tated. 


"  Your  blood,  Brooke,"  said  Talbot,  in  a 
faltering  voice — "  your  blood — poured  out 
— for  me !" 

There  was  a  solemn  silence  after  this. 
Then  Brooke  leaned  back  and  gave  a 
heavy  sigh. 

"  I  feel  a  little  shaky  still,"  said  he. 

"Let  me  support  you,"  said  Talbot,  with 
feverish  eagerness.  "You  must  be  weak 
still  —  very  weak.  You  must  not  exert 
yourself  too  much." 

She  held  out  her  arms  as  though  to 
raise  him  up ;  but  Brooke  drew  back. 

"  No,  no,"  he  murmured,  in  a  faint  voice ; 
"  it's  no  matter — no  matter  at  all." 

Talbot  looked  down  and  said  nothing. 

"I  don't  know  what  happened,"  said 
Brooke.  "  Where  is  everybody  ?  And  Lo 
pez — why  did  you  tell  him  he  was  free? 
Was  he  a  prisoner  ?  And  how  ?  Tell  me 
all  about  it." 

Upon  this  Talbot  narrated  as  briefly  as 
possible  the  circumstances  of  the  recent 
struggle. 

"  Where  is  everybody  now  ?"  asked 
Brooke. 

"I  don't  know.  It  is  enough  for  me 
that  you  are  here,  and  alive  and  safe." 

"And  so  you  let  Lopez  go,  after  all?" 
asked  Brooke,  after  another  pause. 

"Yes," said  Talbot;  "he  did  what  I  was 
praying  for — he  brought  you  back  to  life. 
Was  I  wrong  ?" 

"  Wrong  or  right,"  said  Brooke,  "  I  ap 
prove  of  it.  Everything  that  you  do  is 
right  in  my  eyes." 

Talbot  now  began  to  take  off  the  priest's 
dress. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  asked  Brooke, 
hastily,  starting  up  to  his  feet  with  a  quick 
ness  which  showed  that,  as  he  had  said, 
he  was  quite  himself  again. 

"I  have  no  further  use  for  this  dress 
now,"  said  she.  "I  will  take  it  off." 

"Don't,"  said  Brooke,  imploringly. 
"  Wear  it  still— at  least  as  long  as  you  are 
with  me ;  for  I  shall  think  of  you,  Talbot, 
in  that  dress  always,  until  my  dying  day— 
you  in  that  dress  — in  that  priest's  dress, 
with  the  face  of  an  angel  of  heaven.  It 
was  thus  that  you  looked  as  you  came  be 
tween  me  and  the  levelled  guns  of  the 
soldiers  at  the  old  mill.  Talbot,  I  should 
now  be  a  dead  man  but  for  you." 

Talbot  looked  at  him  earnestly,  and  a 
sad  smile  stole  over  her  face. 

"  Brooke,"  said  she,  "  I  should  now  be  a 
dead  girl  but  for  you." 


158 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


They  both  stood  face  to  face.  Brooke's 
memory  was  now  fully  restored,  and  in  his 
mind  there  was  the  clear  and  unclouded 
recollection  of  that  scene  which  had  called 
forth  his  act  of  self-surrender.  As  he  look 
ed  at  Talbot,  he  saw  her  eyes  fastened  on 
his  with  an  expression  such  as  he  had  seen 
there  before  more  than  once — a  look  which 
told  him  of  all  that  was  in  her  heart.  He 
held  out  his  hands.  She  held  out  hers  to 
meet  them,  and  he  seized  them  in  a  con 
vulsive  grasp.  Thus  they  stood,  holding 
one  another's  hands,  and  looking  into  one 
another's  eyes  and  hearts. 

Talbot's  eyes  were  moist  with  tears  that 
trembled  in  them,  and  her  lips  quivered 
as  though  she  was  about  to  speak.  But 
Brooke  said  not  one  word. 

At  last  Talbot  burst  forth. 

"Brooke,"  said  she,  impetuously,  "you 
may  keep  silent,  if  you  choose,  but  I  will 
not,  for  I  cannot.  I  will  speak,  Brooke. 
My  life  is  yours,  for  you  have  saved  it,  and 
henceforth  all  old  ties  belonging  to  my 
old  life  are  broken.  From  this  time  I  fling 
all  the  past  away  forever,  and  begin  life 
anew." 

Brooke  looked  at  her  with  unutterable 
agitation. 

"  Oh,  Talbot,  Talbot,  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

Talbot  drew  nearer  and  spoke  further. 
Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  his  with  a  deeper 
and  more  earnest  gaze ;  her  voice  was  low, 
and  slow,  and  tremulous;  and  at  every 
word  there  went  a  thrill  through  all  the 
being  of  the  man  to  whom  she  spoke. 
And  this  man  to  whom  she  spoke  wras  one 
whose  idol  she  had  already  grown  to  be ; 
whose  heart  her  presence  filled  with  silent 
delight ;  through  whom  her  glance  flashed 
with  the  force  of  lightning;  through  whose 
frame  her  lightest  touch  could  send  a  tre 
mor  of  ecstasy.  This  man  she  now  held, 
her  hands  clasped  in  his,  her  eyes  fixed  on 
his,  and  her  lips  uttering  words  such  as  he 
had  never  heard  before. 

"  Oh,  Brooke,"  said  Talbot, "  I  will  speak ! 
Brooke  —  noble,  tender  heart!  —  you  love 
me,  and  with  all  the  strength  of  your  soul. 
Honor  forbids  you  to  say  this  in  words,  but 
you  say  it  in  every  look,  and  it  is  spoken 
in  every  tone  of  your  voice,  and  I  feel  it  in 
every  touch  of  your  hands.  Can  I  not  read 
it  in  your  eyes,  Brooke,  every  time  that  you 
look  at  me  ?  Most  of  all,  can  I  not  see  how 
you  love  me  when  you  fling  your  life  away 
for  me?  But  what  is  that  last  act  of 
yours  ?  It  is  nothing  more  than  the  sequel 


of  long  acts  of  self-sacrifice  for  me !  Brooke, 
I  know  that  you  love  me,  and  that  you  love 
me  better  than  all  the  world,  and  better 
than  life  itself.  Keep  your  words  to  your 
self,  if  you  choose.  Lock  your  lips  tight. 
Save  your  plighted  word,  if  you  can;  but, 
after  all,  your  heart  is  mine.  I  know  that 
you  love  me,  and  me  only,  and,  Brooke — 
oh,  Brooke!  you  know — well — well  you 
know  how  dearly  I — love — you  !" 

It  was  his  Talbot  who  said  this,  and  she 
said  it  to  him,  and  she  said  it  at  the  very 
time  when  he  was  all  quivering  under  the 
influence  of  his  own  mighty  love,  and  the 
magnetism  of  her  look  and  of  her  touch. 
His  head  fell  bowed  down  nearer  to  her  as 
she  spoke ;  he  trembled  from  head  to  foot. 
He  tore  away  his  hands  from  her  grasp, 
flung  his  arms  around  her,  and  strained  her 
again  and  again  to  his  breast  in  a  convul 
sive  energy  of  passion.  His  voice  was  all 
broken,  and  was  scarce  audible  as  in  agi 
tated  tones  he  murmured  in  her  ear, 

"  Talbot !  Talbot,  darling  !  I  love  you— 
I  adore  you !  I  never  knew  what  love  was, 
till  I  met  you  !" 

5JC  *  *  *  *  * 

These  asterisks  are  intended  to  represent 
long  silence  which  succeeded  the  remarks 
above  reported.  The  policy  of  silence  was 
for  them  quite  the  most  sensible  under  the 
circumstances.  Until  this  moment  they 
had  both  clung  to  those  engagements  to 
others  which  neither  had  forgotten,  and 
which  they  had  confided  to  each  other. 
Each  knew  the  other's  secret.  But  now 
they  both  flung  up  those  engagements  and 
confessed  their  love  to  one  another.  And 
how  such  high-toned  people  could  justify 
such  conduct  to  their  consciences  is  a  prob 
lem  that  I,  for  my  part,  don't  pretend  to 
be  able  to  solve. 

At  length  they  began  to  be  aware  of  the 
existence  of  the  outside  world. 

"These  poor  wounded,"  said  Talbot, 
"require  some  attention.  Let  us  go  out. 
Let  us  get  some  water  and  try  to  make  it 
easier  for  them." 

Talbot  now  proceeded  to  take  off  the 
priest's  dress,  in  which  task  she  had  been 
interrupted  by  Brooke.  He  again  tried  to 
dissuade  her,  but  in  vain. 

"No,"  said  she;  "it  only  gets  me  into 
trouble.  If  I  am  to  be  taken  prisoner 
again  it  shall  be  in  my  true  character. 
This  disguise  may  be  useful  to  you." 

And  with  these  words  Talbot  removed 
the  dress,  and  stood  forth  in  her  own  prop- 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


159 


er  costume  — that  of  an  English  lady,  as 
she  was  when  Brooke  first  met  her. 

And  now  the  two  went  out  to  procure 
water  for  the  wounded  prisoners. 


CHAPTER  LIII. 

WHICH    TELLS    0?   A   REUNION    OF   VERY    DEAR    OLD 
FRIENDS. 

WHILE  Brooke  and  Talbot  were  thus 
conversing,  others  were  indulging  in  the 
same  pursuit,  and  none  to  better  purpose 
than  Harry  and  Katie. 

No  one  can  say  that  Katie  had  not  been 
very  severely  tried,  and  had  not  passed 
through  a  most  distressing  ordeal.  Apart 
from  the  long  trial  of  mind  which  had  pre 
ceded  that  eventful  morning,  the  circum 
stances  of  the  final  scene  were  enough  to 
shake  up  stronger  nerves  than  those  of 
Katie.  So  completely  was  she  prostrated, 
that  under  any  other  circumstances  noth 
ing  could  have  saved  her  from  a  fit  of 
sickness,  which  might  possibly  have  result 
ed  in  brain -fever  and  terminated  fatally, 
for  all  I  know ;  but  fortunately,  under  these 
actually  existing  circumstances,  she  was 
spared  all  this.  The  presence  of  Harry 
made  all  the  difference  in  the  world. 

After  retiring  from  the  scene  of  conflict, 
they  ascended  into  that  upper  chamber  in 
which  Katie  had  last  been  imprisoned,  and 
here  they  seated  themselves  so  that  Katie 
might  rest,  supported  by  Harry's  encircling 
arms,  and  at  the  same  time  be  refreshed  by 
the  fresh  air.  Katie  now  began  to  rally 
with  the  rapidity  which  is  characteristic 
of  buoyant  natures,  and  soon  began  to 
show  something  of  her  usual  lightness  of 
heart.  Harry,  however,  though,  most  ten 
der  and  affectionate,  seemed  changed,  and 
the  change  was  soon  detected  by  Katie's 
quick  perception. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?"  she 
asked.  "  You  don't  seem  glad  at  all." 

"Oh  yes,"  said  Harry.  "I'm  very  glad 
indeed." 

He  spoke  in  a  doleful  tone  of  voice, 
which  was  by  no  means  in  accord  with  his 
words. 

"Your  voice  don't  sound  very  glad," 
said  Katie,  reproachfully,  "  and  you  look 
troubled.  You  are  so  preoccupied  that 
you  can't  say  anything.  But  I  suppose 
you  feel  the  effects  of  that  awful  scene — 
and  oh,  how  awful  it  was !" 
11 


Katie  relapsed  into  silence,  and  Harry  felt 
somewhat  relieved ;  for  in  truth  he  was  pre 
occupied,  and  had  much  on  his  mind. 

It  was  the  thought  of  Talbot  that  filled 
his  mind.  It  was  she  whom  he  had  seen 
in  that  priest's  disguise.  It  was  his  affi 
anced  bride  whom  he  had  lost,  and  now  at 
last  found  !  Found  1  Great  Heaven  1  and 
here !  and  thus !  Here — when  he  was  here 
ready  to  die  for  Katie ;  when  he  was  now 
with  Katie,  who  had  turned  to  him  from 
all  the  world ! 

Was  he  a  man  of  honor  ?  Honor !  The 
name  now  seemed  a  mockery.  Which  way 
would  honor  impel  him  ?  To  give  up  Ka 
tie  ?  What !  when  she  had  given  up  all 
for  him?  What!  when  he  had  fought  a 
mortal  quarrel  with  Ashby  for  her  ?  Hon 
or!  Was  not  honor  due  to  Ashby?  and 
had  he  not  been  a  traitor  to  his  friend  ? 

There  was  this  fight  yet  before  him,  and 
it  would  be  soon ;  for  Ashby  was  free.  A 
fight  for  Katie!  And  Talbot  was  here! 
She  would  know  all.  And  she — she  who 
had  come  all  the  way  from  England,  who 
had  found  him  not,  who  had  imagined 
herself  deserted  —  she  would  learn  of  his 
perfidy.  The  thought  was  horrible. 

Upon  such  agonizing  thoughts  as  these 
came  Katie's  question, 

"  Why  are  you  so  sad  ?" 

Harry  sighed. 

"  I'm  thinking  of  Ashby,"  said  he.  "  He's 
free  now.  He'll  soon  be  seeking  you." 

At  this  Katie  tapped  her  foot  nervously. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  if  you  are  thinking 
of  him  it's  very  bad  taste  to  say  so.  I 
wasn't  thinking  of  him  at  all." 

But  this  remark  seemed  to  set  Katie  off 
thinking  about  Ashby,  for  she  too  seemed 
preoccupied. 

"I  think  it's  a  great  shame,"  said  she. 

"What?" 

"  Why,  for  Mr.  Ashby  to  come  bothering 
rne  just  now." 

Harry  said  nothing,  and  they  both  re 
lapsed  once  more  into  silence. 

The  harder  task  was  before  Harry. 
There  were  two  for  him  to  face.  One,  the 
friend  to  whom  he  had  been  a  traitor;  the 
other,  his  betrothed,  to  whom  he  had  been 
false.  Of  these  two  the  latter  was  by  far 
the  worse.  He  had  faced  Ashby  already, 
and  could  face  him  again,  as  a  mortal  ene 
my,  to  fight  a  mortal  battle ;  but  Talbot ! 
Ah!  with  what  eyes  could  he  look  upon 
that  pure  and  noble  face  ?  with  what  words 
could  he  address  her  ? 


160 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


Katie's  thoughts  seemed  to  be  running 
in  that  channel  which  Harry  was  using  for 
his  own;  for  she  suddenly  looked  at  him 
with  earnest  scrutiny,  and  said,  abruptly, 

"  But  you  are  as  bad." 

"As  bad?" 

"As  bad  as  me." 

Harry  sighed. 

"Mr.  Ashby,"  said  Katie,  innocently, 
"  will  want  to  see  you  too,  you  know." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Harry. 

"  Oh  well,  then,"  said  Katie,  "  I  needn't 
see  him  at  all.  You  can  explain  it  all ;  for 
really  I  hardly  know  what  I  can  possibly 
find  to  say  to  him." 

"  I'm  afraid,"  said  Harry,  "  that  he  will 
insist  on  seeing  you,  and  on  learning  his 
fate  from  your  own  lips." 

"His  fate  !"  said  Katie— "oh  dear!" 

"  I  would  take  all  the  difficulty  from  you 
if  I  could,"  said  Harry,  "  but  I  don't  see 
how  I  can." 

"  Oh  well,"  said  Katie,  cheerfully.  "  Per 
haps  he  will  not  be  in  any  very  great  hur 
ry  to  see  me,  after  all.  He  did  not  seem 
very  anxious  about  me  in  the  room  below. 
He  did  not  look  like  a  maniac.  He  did 
not  remonstrate  with  Lopez.  He  did  not 
draw  his  pistol  and  attack  the  captain  in 
the  midst  of  his  men.  He  did  not  fight 
for  me,  and  risk  his  life.  No ;  he  thought 
too  much  of  his  own  dear  self,  and  left  all 
the  fighting  and  all  the  risk  to  one  who 
is  worth  far  more  than  ten  thousand  Ash- 
bys !  And  that's  what  I'll  tell  him  !"  said 
Katie.  "  Let  me  see  him  now,  while  all 
this  is  fresh  in  my  memory.  Come,  Har 
ry,  let  us  wait  no  longer,  but  if  this  meet 
ing  has  to  be,  let  it  be  now." 

Katie  poured  forth  these  words  in  an 
impetuous  torrent,  and,  starting  up,  led  the 
way  out.  Harry  followed,  and  thus  they 
descended  the  stairway  to  the  lower  hall. 

Ashby  had  gone  out  shortly  after  Harry 
and  Katie,  following  Dolores,  who  was  anx 
ious  to  see  about  the  gates.  The  six  Car- 
lists  followed.  The  gates  were  wide  open, 
and  far  away  a  few  of  the  fugitives  could 
still  be  seen  flying  as  fast  as  their  feet 
could  carry  them.  The  six  Carlists  soon 
had  the  gates  firmly  closed  and  barred, 
and  mounted  guard  here,  deeming  this  to 
be  the  weak  point  of  the  castle ;  and  think 
ing,  too,  that  if  an  enemy  appeared,  he 
would  consider  six  men  at  the  gate  a  sign 
that  six  hundred  were  in  the  garrison. 

Russell  had  followed  the  six  Carlists, 
thinking  that  with  them  he  would  be  safer 


than  anywhere  else.  Rita  had  now  a  hor 
ror  of  those  Carlists  whom  she  had  betray 
ed,  and,  as  he  thought,  would  venture  any 
where  rather  than  into  their  presence. 

And  now  the  good  man  felt  quite  mar 
tial.  This  new  change  in  his  situation, 
and  the  inspiring  presence  of  his  military 
friends,  made  him  determine  to  get  rid  of 
that  odious  disguise  which  Rita  had  fur 
nished  him.  He  proceeded,  therefore,  to 
divest  himself  of  it. 

The  Carlists  had  not  noticed  him  thus 
far,  and  had  not  at  all  recognized  him. 
Great  was  their  surprise  when  they  saw  this 
"  woman  "  tearing  off  her  outer  robe ;  but 
far  greater  was  it  when  they  saw  the  mar 
vellous  transformation  of  a  commonplace 
woman  into  a  resplendent  general  -  officer 
all  in  blue  and  gold. 

A  murmur  ran  through  tlrern,  partly  of 
amusement,  partly  of  approval. 

One  of  them  addressed  him. 

Russell  shook  his  head. 

"  He  is  a  French  general,"  said  one  ;  "  he 
doesn't  understand  us.  Can't  some  one 
speak  French  ?" 

No  one  could. 

One  of  them  then  ran  inside  and  brought 
out  a  sword,  with  belt,  etc.,  which  he  hand 
ed  to  the  "  French  general."  Russell  took 
it,  and  after  some  trouble  succeeded  in 
buckling  the  martial  gear  around  him. 
Then,  by  way  of  an  additional  safeguard 
against  his  enemy,  he  drew  his  sword,  and 
taking  his  seat  on  a  stone  near  the  gate, 
glared  watchfully  around. 

Dolores  and  Ashby  had  much  to  talk  of, 
but  Dolores  was  too  prudent  to  waste  time 
on  mere  explanations.  There  was  yet  very 
much  to  be  done.  Above  all,  they  must 
now  consider  how  they  were  to  get  out  of 
the  castle.  After  all,  as  far  as  she  could 
see,  their  position  had  changed  little,  if  at 
all,  for  the  better.  The  enemy  would  rally. 
They  would  be  attacked.  No  defence  was 
possible.  They  would  soon  be  prisoners 
or  fugitives.  And  if  they  were  to  fly,  how 
could  they  hope  to  escape  in  a  country 
swarming  with  roving  bands  of  marauders 
belonging  to  both  parties  ?  The  problem 
was  a  difficult  one,  and  one  which  was  not 
to  be  solved  very  readily. 

At  length  Dolores  thought  of  the  wound 
ed  men,  and  as  she  had  a  very  tender 
heart,  she  proposed  to  go  and  help  them. 
The  two  then  returned  and  entered  the 
castle. 

They  reached  the  hall  at  the  very  time 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


161 


when  the  other  parties  were  coming  into 
it  —  namely,  Brooke  and  Talbot  from  the 
room,  and  Harry  and  Katie  from  the  upper 
regions.  Such  coincidences  are  frequent 
in  real  life,  and  still  more  frequent  in  our 
"  Castles  in  Spain." 

As  Brooke  and  Talbot  came  out,  Ashby 
and  Dolores,  advancing  toward  the  room, 
met  them  face  to  face.  Brooke  and  Dolores 
looked  upon  one  another.  There  was  the 
flash  of  mutual  recognition  in  the  faces  of 
both.  Brooke  seemed  struck  dumb.  Do 
lores  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Raleigh  !"  she  said,  in  tones  of  amaze 
ment  and  consternation. 

"  Dolores !"  said  Brooke,  in  a  deep,  hol 
low  voice. 

Brooke  was  ghastly ;  but  this  may  have 
been  the  effect  of  the  recent  shock.  As  for 
Dolores,  every  trace  of  color  fled  from  her 
face,  and  she  was  as  white  as  marble. 

Talbot  heard  this,  and  saw  it.  These 
words,  these  familiar  names,  smote  her  to 
the  heart.  She  recollected  the  story  which 
Brooke  had  told  her.  She  remembered 
the  name  of  that  Cuban  maid.  It  was  this 
—it  was  "  Dolores !"  Was  this  she  ? 

She  looked  around  in  despair. 

At  that  moment,  as  her  despairing  eyes 
wandered  around,  they  fell  full  upon  the 
face  of  Harry ;  for  Harry  and  Katie  on  de 
scending  the  stairs  had,  on  this  instant, 
reached  the  spot. 

Harry  saw  her  again. 

The  priest's  dress  was  removed.  She 
stood  in  her  own  garb— her  very  self — Tal 
bot  !  with  all  her  noble  face  revealed,  and 
all  her  exquisite  grace  of  feature  and  of 
form. 

"  Sydney !"  said  he. 

"  Harry  !"  said  Talbot. 

Katie  heard  this.  She  turned  pale.  All 
her  thoughts  fled  from  her;  she  shrank 
back,  and  stood  staring.  But  one  thought 
now  remained — the  thought  suggested  by 
that  name,  Sydney.  Well  she  remembered 
that  name,  and  all  the  incidents  of  that 
story  which  Harry  had  told  her  when  they 
were  first  acquainted  —  the  wreck  of  the 
ship — the  maiden  deserted  and  despairing 
— her  rescue  by  Harry — their  escape  in  the 
boat — their  love — their  plighted  faith — the 
appointed  marriage — the  lost  bride. 

Sydney !  It  was  she  herself— the  prom 
ised  bride  of  Harry,  whom  he  would,  no 
doubt,  be  required  to  wed  at  once. 

Now  she  understood  why  Harry  had  been 
so  preoccupied. 


CHAPTER  LIV. 


IN  WHICH  A  NUMBER   OF  PEOPLE   FIND   THEMSELVES 
IN   A   VERY   EMBARRASSING   SITUATION. 

BROOKE  and  Dolores  stood  facing  one 
another  in  silence.  The  embarrassment 
was  most  painful.  Each  felt  it  too  much 
to  be  able  to  notice  it  in  the  other,  and 
each  instinctively  avoided  the  glance  of  the 
other's  eyes,  casting  only  looks  of  a  furtive 
kind  at  the  other's  face,  and  then  hastily 
looking  elsewhere.  In  fact,  the  situation 
was  truly  horrible. 

But  Brooke  felt  it  incumbent  on  him  to 
say  something ;  he  also  felt  anxious  to  vin 
dicate  his  honor — if  such  a  thing  were,  in 
deed,  in  any  way  possible.  But  ardent 
words,  excited,  eager  welcomes,  and  all 
those  other  circumstances  that  usually  at 
tend  upon  the  meeting  of  long-divided  lov 
ers,  were,  in  this  case,  clearly  impossible. 
Brooke  felt  Talbot's  presence — Talbot,  who 
was  worth  to  him  ten  thousand  like  Do 
lores  ;  so  he  could  only  take  refuge  in  the 
most  commonplace  conventionalities.  It  is 
true,  Talbot  could  not  understand  Spanish ; 
but  Talbot  could  understand  those  tones  of 
voice  which  form  the  universal  and  natu 
ral  language  of  man ;  and  if  Brooke  had 
felt  ever  so  full  of  eager  delight,  he  would 
have  hesitated  to  manifest  it  under  such 
very  delicate  circumstances. 

At  length  Brooke  cleared  his  throat. 

"This,"  said  he,  in  a  solemn  tone — "  this 
is  indeed  an  unexpected  pleasure." 

Dolores  sighed. 

"  It  is  indeed,  sefior,"  she  replied,  "  an 
unexpected,  a  most  unexpected  one." 

"It  is  indeed,"  said  Brooke,  in  quite  a 
helpless  way. 

Saying  this  he  held  out  his  hand.  Do 
lores  held  out  hers.  They  shook  hands. 
Then  they  cast  hasty  looks  at  one  another. 

"I  hope  you  have  been  quite  well,"  said 
Brooke. 

"Oh,  quite,"  said  Dolores;  "and  you, 
seiior  ?" 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Brooke,  "  very  well 
indeed." 

And  now  another  pause  succeeded. 
Both  of  them  were  horribly  embarrassed. 
Each  had  the  same  feeling,  but  neither  one 
knew  the  feeling  of  the  other.  Each  knew 
that  a  change  had  occurred,  but  neither 
knew  that  the  same  change  had  been  ex 
perienced  by  the  other.  Brooke  knew 
himself  false,  but  thought  Dolores  true; 
while  Dolores  had  a  similar  feeling.  Be- 


162 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


sides,  this  new  love  which  each  had  con 
ceived  and  cherished  made  the  old  one 
seem  a  mistake — made  them  regard  each 
other  with  aversion,  and  this  meeting  as  a 
calamity;  yet  each  felt  bound  to  conceal 
these  feelings,  and  exhibit  toward  the  oth 
er  an  impossible  cordiality.  All  this  caused 
a  wretched  embarrassment  and  restraint, 
which  each  felt  and  for  which  each  took 
the  blame,  thinking  the  other  altogether 
true  and  innocent. 

The  deep  feelings  of  the  past  were  yet 
strong  in  their  hearts — the  immediate  past, 
and  with  these  their  hearts  were  full.  Yet 
these  had  to  be  concealed.  Each  felt 
bound  to  the  other  by  a  solemn  vow,  and 
by  every  principle  of  duty  and  honor. 
They  had  exchanged  vows  of  love  and 
eternal  fidelity.  From  such  vows  who 
could  release  them?  Yet  the  vows  were 
already  broken  by  each,  and  of  this  each 
was  conscious.  Had  Brooke  met  Dolores 
before  this  last  scene  with  Talbot,  he  might 
have  felt  self-  reproach,  but  he  could  not 
have  felt  such  a  sense  of  unworthincss. 
For  before  that  he  had,  at  least,  kept  a 
watch  upon  his  tongue,  and  in  words,  at 
least,  he  had  not  told  his  love  for  another. 
But  now  his  word  had  gone  forth,  and  he 
had  pledged  himself  to  another,  when  there 
was  a  previous  pledge  to  Dolores. 

But  he  had  to  say  something.  Dolores 
was  silent.  He  thought  she  was  waiting 
for  him  to  explain. 

"  I — I—"  he  stammered — "  I  have  hunted 
— hunted  you — all  through  Spain." 

This  was  the  truth,  for  Brooke  had  been 
faithful  to  Dolores  until  he  had  met  with 
Talbot. 

Dolores  was  conscience-smitten  by  this 
proof  of  her  former  lover's  fidelity.  She 
hastened  to  excuse  herself  somehow. 

"I — I  —  "  she  said,  with  an  embarrass 
ment  equal  to  that  of  Brooke — "  I  thought 
you  were  in  America." 

"  No ;  I  was  in  Cuba." 

"  I  thought  I  had  lost  you,"  said  Dolores: 
"  you  ceased  to  write." 

This  sounded  like  the  reproach  of  a 
faithful  lover.  Brooke  felt  hurt. 

" Oh  no,"  said  he ;  "I  wrote,  but  you 
ceased  to  answer." 

"I  thought  something  had  happened," 
said  Dolores. 

"I  thought  so  too,"  said  Brooke.  "I 
never  got  your  letters.  Where  did  you 
go?" 

Dolores  jumped  at  this  question  as  giv 


ing  a  chance  of  relief.  So  she  began  to 
give  a  long  account  of  her  life  in  Spain, 
detailing  minute  incidents,  and  growing 
gradually  calmer,  more  self-possessed,  and 
more  observant  of  Brooke.  She  saw  with 
satisfaction  that  Brooke  made  no  demon 
strations  ;  yet  her  satisfaction  was  checked 
by  the  thought  that  perhaps  he  was  deter 
red  from  exhibiting  the  raptures  of  a  lover 
by  the  presence  of  others — by  the  fear  that 
he  had  been  only  too  true,  and  that  those 
raptures  would  yet  be  exhibited.  She  re 
solved  that  he  should  not  have  an  opportu 
nity.  Yet  how  could  she  avoid  him  ?  And 
thus  she  thought,  and  still  she  went  on 
talking. 

The  effect  of  her  story  was  a  crushing 
one.  She  made  no  mention  of  Ashby ;  and 
Brooke  concluded  that  she  had  been  true, 
while  he  had  been  false.  And  now  what 
was  he  ?  Clearly  false.  Could  he  come 
back  to  Dolores?  Could  he  be  what  he 
had  been  ?  Could  he  give  up  Talbot  ?  The 
thought  was  intolerable.  Never  had  any 
one  been  to  him  so  dear  as  Talbot.  Never 
had  Talbot  been  to  him  so  dear  as  now. 
And  yet  was  he  not  in  honor  bound  to 
Dolores  ?  Honor !  and  did  not  honor  bind 
him  to  Talbot  ? 

Such  was  the  struggle  within  this  un 
happy  man. 

Almost  at  the  same  time  Harry  and  Tal 
bot  had  recognized  each  other. 

Talbot,  who  had  stood  unmoved  at  the 
presence  of  death,  now  felt  herself  quail 
and  grow  all  unnerved  at  the  presence  of 
Harry.  But  then  she  had  been  strength 
ened  by  her  new  love  for  Brooke ;  now  she 
was  weakened  by  the  remembrance  of  her 
lost  love  for  Harry.  This  was  an  ordeal 
for  which  there  was  no  outside  inspiration. 
The  remembrance  of  her  passionate  words 
to  Brooke,  so  lately  uttered,  so  ardently 
answered,  was  strong  within  her.  And  yet 
here  was  one  who  held  her  promise,  who 
could  claim  her  as  his  own,  who  could 
take  her  away  from  Brooke;  and  what 
could  she  do  ? 

Harry,  on  the  other  hand,  had  dared 
death  for  Katie;  for  her  he  had  tried  to 
fling  away  his  life.  This  had  been  done 
in  the  presence  of  his  Sydney.  Had  she 
understood  that  ?  She  could  not  have  un 
derstood  it.  Could  he  explain  ?  Impossi 
ble  !  Could  he  tell  the  story  of  his  falsity 
to  this  noble  lady,  whom  he  had  known 
only  to  love,  whom  he  had  known  also  to 
revere?  And  this  proud,  this  delicately 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


163 


nurtured  girl  had  coine  from  her  home  for 
his  sake,  to  suffer,  to  risk  her  life,  to  be 
come  a  miserable  captive !  Was  there  not 
in  this  a  stronger  reason  than  ever  why  he 
should  be  true  to  her?  And  yet,  if  he 
loved  another  better,  would  it  not  be  wrong 
to  marry  Sydney  ? 

All  the  tenderness  of  his  heart  rose  up 
within  him  in  one  strong,  yearning  thought 
of — Oh,  Katie!  But  all  his  honor,  his 
pride,  his  manliness — all  his  pity,  too,  and 
his  sympathy — made  itself  felt  in  a  deep 
undertone  of  feeling  —  Oh,  Sydney!  true 
and  faithful ! 

At  last  he  was  able  to  speak. 

"  Oh,  Sydney,"  said  he,  "  what  bitter,  bit 
ter  fortune  has  brought  you  here  to  this 
horrible  place — to  so  much  misery  ?" 

Talbot  looked  down.  She  could  not 
look  in  his  face.  She  felt  unworthy  of 
him.  He  seemed  faithful  still.  She  had 
seen  the  act  of  his  in  attacking  Lopez,  but 
had  not  understood  it.  She  thought  him 
faithful,  in  spite  of  all. 

"Bitter!"  said  she,  slowly.  "Bitter! 
yes,  bitter  indeed — bitter  was  the  fortune 
that  brought  me  here !" 

She  could  say  no  more.  She  was  think 
ing  only  of  that  bitter  fortune  which  had 
brought  her  to  a  place  where  she  might  be 
forever  torn  from  Brooke ;  where  Brooke, 
too,  had  found  one  who  might  tear  him 
from  her. 

But  Harry  understood  this  differently. 
He  detected  in  these  words  a  reflection 
upon  himself.  He  thought  she  alluded  to 
her  long  journey  to  him — when  she  had 
come  so  far,  and  had  reached  her  destina 
tion  only  to  find  him  absent;  when  she 
had  waited  for  days  without  finding  any 
trace  of  him  or  hearing  any  word  from 
him,  and  at  last  had  turned  about  on  her 
lonely,  homeward  road.  And  yet  he  was 
blameless  then.  As  far  as  that  was  con 
cerned,  he  could  excuse  himself;  lie  could 
explain  all.  He  felt  so  guilty  in  some 
things,  that  he  was  anxious  to  show  his 
innocence  in  other  things  where  he  had 
not  been  to  blame ;  and  so  he  hastened 
most  eagerly  to  give  a  long  and  an  elo 
quent  vindication  of  himself,  by  explain 
ing  all  about  his  journey  to  England,  and 
his  return  to  Barcelona,  and  his  search 
after  her  which  had  led  him  to  this. 

And  in  all  this  Talbot  found  only  proofs 
of  Harry's  unalterable  fidelity.  He  had 
been  true!  She  had  been  false!  What 
now  was  there  for  her  to  do  ?  To  sacrifice 


this  man  ?  What !  after  such  love  and  loy 
alty  ?  Or,  on  the  other  hand,  to  give  up 
Brooke  !  Brooke ! — give  up  Brooke !  Oh 
heavens  !  How  was  that  possible  ?  Would 
she  not  rather  die  than  give  up  Brooke  ? 
When  her  own  words  to  him  wrere  fresh  in 
her  memory,  and  when  his  words  of  love 
to  her  were  still  ringing  in  her  ears — at 
such  a  moment  as  this  could  she  think  of 
giving  up  Brooke  ? 

Such  were  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of 
these  two. 

Meanwhile  Ashby,  finding  himself  left 
alone  by  Dolores,  stood  for  a  while  won 
dering  who  her  friend  might  be ;  until  at 
length,  finding  that  she  was  beginning  to 
give  him  a  detailed  history  of  her  life,  he 
looked  around  in  despair.  And  he  saw 
Katie  standing  alone,  wrhere  she  had  been 
left  by  Harry,  near  the  foot  of  the  stairway ; 
and  as  all  the  others  were  engaged  in  their 
own  affairs,  and,  moreover,  as  his  relations 
with  Katie  were  of  the  most  intimate  kind, 
he  saw  no  other  course  open  to  him  than  to 
approach  her  and  converse  with  her.  And 
at  that  moment  he  remembered  that  Katie 
had  in  her  possession  —  perhaps  in  her 
pocket  —  a  'certain  letter  which  he  had 
written  to  her  only  a  few  days  before,  full 
of  protestations  of  love;  in  which  he  in 
formed  her  that  he  was  going  to  travel 
with  her  in  the  same  train,  in  the  hope  of 
seeing  her  at  Burgos  or  Bayonne ;  in  which 
he  urged  her  to  come  to  him,  to  be  his 
wife  ;  to  set  at  defiance  her  hostile  guard 
ian,  and  to  unite  herself  with  him.  This 
seemed  strange  to  him  now,  when  his  mind 
was  filled  with  thoughts  of  Dolores,  and 
his  heart  was  full  of  the  love  of  Dolores. 
Even  his  resentment  against  her  had  passed 
away.  She  had  allowed  herself  to  indulge 
in  a  flirtation  with  his  friend  Rivers.  Was 
that  a  crime  ?  He,  on  the  other  hand,  had 
lost  all  love  for  her,  and  had  given  all  his 
heart  to  Dolores.  Katie  seemed  to  him 
now  not  repugnant  as  a  false  one,  but  mere 
ly  pitiable  as  a  weak,  child-like  character. 
The  falsity  now  seemed  rather  on  his  part 
than  on  hers.  He  believed  that  Harry  had 
gone  much  farther  in  treachery  than  Katie. 
Katie,  he  thought,  was  merely  a  weak- 
minded  flirt ;  while  Harry  had  become  a 
traitor  in  allowing  himself  to  fall  in  love 
with  her.  Even  for  Harry  he  could  now 
make  some  allowances;  and  since  he  had 
found  out  his  own  feelings,  he  had  less 
jealousy,  and  therefore  less  resentment 
against  his  former  friend.  As  for  jealousy, 


164 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


if  he  now  had  that  feeling,  it  was  all  di 
rected  elsewhere  —  namely,  toward  that 
stranger  whose  sudden  appearance  had  so 
engrossed  Dolores. 

In  such  a  state  of  rnind  as  this  Ashby 
advanced  toward  Katie.  Now  Katie  had 
come  down  with  the  express  purpose  of 
seeing  him,  and  with  her  mind  full  of  a 
very  pretty  speech  which  she  intended  to 
make  to  him.  But  the  sudden  meeting 
of  Harry  with  Talbot  had  raised  other 
thoughts  and  feelings,  which  had  driven 
her  pretty  speech  altogether  out  of  her 
mind.  A  bitter  jealousy  afflicted  her  ten 
der  heart.  This  lady  was  the  Sydney  Tal 
bot  of  whom  he  had  told  her,  and  who  had 
come  all  the  way  from  England  on  this 
perilous  journey  to  marry  him.  Would  she 
now  give  him  up  ?  Impossible  !  And  how 
could  Harry  escape  her  ? 

As  Ashby  approached,  Katie  therefore 
had  but  little  thought  for  him.  Ashby 
also  thought  less  of  her  than  of  Dolores. 
Who  was  this  stranger  ?  he  thought.  Why 
was  he  so  familiar?  Why  did  Dolores 
leave  him  so  abruptly  ?  and  wThy  was  she 
telling  to  this  stranger  the  whole  story  of 
her  life  ? 

Thus  Ashby  and  Katie  met  again. 

Ashby  had  to  say  something,  and  so,  as 
was  natural,  he  took  refuge  in  convention 
alities. 

"  I  hope,"  said  he,  "  that  no  ill  effects 
have  arisen  from  this  recent  excitement." 

"Oh  no,"  said  Katie,  in  an  abstracted 
tone.  She  was  trying  to  listen  to  Talbot's 
words.  They  did  not  sound  pleasant. 

Ashby  also  was  trying  to  listen  to  Do 
lores.  She  seemed  to  him  to  be  altogether 
too  familiar. 

"  I'm  very  glad,"  said  Ashby.  "  I  was 
afraid  that  this  excitement  might  have  an 
injurious  effect." 

(Dolores  was  still  giving  an  account  of 
herself.  It  was  unworthy  of  her !) 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Katie,  "  not  at  all." 

She  heard  Harry  speak  in  an  apologetic 
manner.  It  was  very  hard  to  bear.  Would 
he  leave  her  for  this  lady  ? 

There  was  now  a  pause. 

Ashby  and  Katie  were  both  listening 
with  all  their  might  to  hear  what  was  said 
by  Dolores  and  by  Harry  respectively. 

Ashby  felt  the  necessity  of  saying  some 
thing. 

"Very  fine  weather,"  said  he. 
-  "  Oh,  very  fine,"  said  Katie. 

"A  fine  moon." 


"Oh,  very  fine." 

At  this  mention  of  the  moon,  each 
thought  of  those  moonbeams  which  had 
streamed  in  through  the  narrow  windows 
on  those  past  few  nights — nights  so  mem 
orable  to  each  ;  and  each  thought  of  them 
with  the  same  feelings. 

Ashby  tried  to  find  something  new  to 
say.  He  thought  of  the  position  in  which 
they  all  were — its  danger — their  liability  to 
recapture— the  necessity  of  flight,  and  yet 
the  difficulty  of  doing  so — things  which 
he  and  Dolores  had  just  been  considering. 

"  This,"  said  he,  "  is  a  very  embarrassiug 
position." 

Katie  by  this  understood  him  to  mean 
the  relations  which  they  bore  to  one  an 
other,  and  which  had  become  somewhat 
confused  by  her  affair  with  Harry.  She 
thought  this  was  Ashby's  way  of  putting- 
it. 

She  sighed.  She  looked  at  Harry  and 
Talbot.  They  seemed  corning  to  an  under 
standing.  Harry  was  certainly  making  an 
explanation  which  seemed  unnecessarily 
long.  And  here  wras  Ashby  hinting  at  an 
explanation  with  herself.  She  had  forgot 
ten  all  her  fine  speech  with  which  she  had 
come  down.  She  knew  not  what  to  say. 
She  only  felt  a  jealous  fear  about  Harry, 
and  another  fear  about  an  explanation 
with  Ashby. 

Ashby  meanwhile  thought  nothing  about 
Katie,  but  was  full  of  eagerness  to  learn 
what  was  going  on  between  Dolores  and 
Brooke. 

And  thus  it  was  certainly  an  embarrass 
ing  situation. 

There  were  three  couples  involved  in 
this  embarrassing  situation,  and  among 
them  all  it  is  difficult  to  say  which  was 
most  embarrassed.  It  was  bad  enough  to 
meet  with  the  old  lover,  but  it  was  worse 
to  feel  that  the  eye  of  the  new  lover  was 
upon  them.  Moreover,  each  new  lover  felt 
jealous  of  the  old  one ;  and  the  mind  of 
each  had  thus  to  be  distracted  between 
two  discordant  anxieties.  In  short,  it  was, 
as  Ashby  had  well  said,  a  most  embarrass 
ing  situation. 

Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  all  this,  a  fig 
ure  entered  the  hall  which  attracted  all 
eyes.  It  was  a  figure  of  commanding  im 
portance  ;  a  man  rather  elderly,  in  the  uni 
form  of  a  general-officer — all  ablaze  with 
gold.  There  was  a  universal  shock  at  such 
an  apparition.  The  first  thought  of  every 
one  was  that  the  castle  had  been  captured 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


165 


by  some  new  enemy  —  that  this  was  the 
leader,  and  that  they  all  were  prisoners. 

But  one  by  one,  to  Ash  by,  Harry,  Brooke ; 
to  Katie,  Talbot,  and  Dolores  —  came  the 
recognition  of  the  fact  that  under  this  mag 
nificent  exterior  lay  concealed  the  person 
of  their  companion  and  friend,  the  venera 
ble  and  the  virtuous  Russell. 

"I  want  to  look  after  something,"  said 
he ;  and  with  these  words  lie  went  into  the 
room  where  he  had  first  been  confined — 
namely,  the  one  opposite  to  that  in  which 
the  recent  ceremony  had  taken  place. 


CHAPTER  LV. 

HOW    HARRY    AND    KATIE    DISCUSS    THE    SITUATION, 
AND   ASIIBY   TELLS   DOLORES   HER   DUTY. 

THE  sudden  appearance  of  Russell  broke 
the  spell  which  had  rested  upon  all. 

Talbot  wras  the  first  to  make  a  movement. 

"Excuse  me  for  a  few  moments,"  said 
she.  "There  are  some  wounded  men  in 
side  who  are  in  my  care.  I  came  out  to 
get  some  water  for  them.  I  must  make 
haste." 

Saying  these  words,  she  left  Harry,  and 
wrent  to  a  corner  of  the  apartment  where 
there  was  a  jar  of  water.  Filling  a  vessel 
from  this,  she  returned  to  the  wounded. 

Harry  did  not  follow  her. 

Upon  seeing  this  movement  of  Talbot, 
Katie  withdrew  from  Ashby.  Ashby  did 
not  seem  to  notice  this,  for  he  was  still 
watching  Dolores. 

Dolores  now  remarked  to  Brooke  that 
she  was  just  at  that  time  engaged  in  look 
ing  after  the  defences  of  the  castle,  for 
there  was  serious  danger  of  an  immediate 
attack  by  the  enemy. 

At  this  Brooke  said  nothing,  but  merely 
bowed,  and  followed  Talbot  to  help  her 
with  the  wounded  men. 

Dolores,  upon  this,  cast  a  glance  at  Ash- 
by  and  went  out.  Ashby  immediately  fol 
lowed  her. 

Upon  this,  Harry  approached  Katie. 
Neither  said  a  word,  but,  acting  on  one 
common  impulse,  they  went  up  -  stairs  to 
gether  into  the  upper  hall.  As  they  thus 
went  up,  Russell  came  out  of  the  other 
room,  and,  seeing  them  ascending  the  stairs, 
he  followed  them. 

On  reaching  the  top  of  the  stairs,  Harry 
and  Katie  stood,  and  Russell  also  stopped 
a  little  below.  He  wasn't  proud.  He  was 


anxious  for  information.  So  he  stood  and 
listened  to  what  they  had  to  say. 

The  two  stood  there  in  silence  for  some 
time,  until  at  length  Katie  spoke. 

"  Isn't  this  horrible  ?"  said  she,  with  a 
heavy  sigh. 

Harry  gave  another  sigh  responsive  to 
hers. 

"It's  worse,"  said  Katie,  "  than  ever." 

Harry,  with  another  sigh,  allowed  that  it 
was. 

"I  can't  stay  here,"  said  Katie,  "in  this 
place,  and,  what's  more,  I  won't  stay.  I'm 
free  now,  and  I've  made  up  my  mind  to 
go  away." 

"Will  you?"  said  Harry,  in  an  eager 
voice. 

"Yes,  I  will,"  said  Katie,  decidedly; 
"  and  I'll  go  all  alone.  You  needn't  come ; 
for  of  course  you'll  stay." 

"  Stay  ?"  said  Harry—"  stay  ?  and  here— 
when  you've  gone  away  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Katie,  "  of  course  you'll 
stay  here  with  your  dear  Sydney !" 

Harry  sighed. 

"But  /  won't  stay,"  continued  Katie, 
after  another  pause ;  "  I'm  going  to  leave ; 
and  I'll  walk  back  to  the  railway  all  alone." 

"  I  think  that  would  be  a  capital  idea  I'1 
said  Harry,  in  a  tone  of  great  animation. 

At  this  Katie  burst  into  tears. 

Harry  was  now  quite  distracted.  He 
caught  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  over 
and  over  again. 

"You  don't  understand,"  said  he.  "I 
mean  it  would  be  a  good  idea  to  go ;  but, 
of  course,  you  shall  not  go  alone." 

"Yes,  I  will  go  alone,"  said  Katie,  "all 
alone.  You  don't  care  for  me,  now  that 
you've  got  your  Sydney.  You  don't  care 
for  me  a  bit !" 

"Care  for  you!"  cried  Harry;  "you're 
the  only  one,  Katie,  in  all  the  world  that  I 
do  care  for." 

Katie  struggled  away  from  his  encircling 
arms. 

"No,"  said  she,  "you're  not  speaking 
the  truth.  You'll  leave  me,  and  say  those 
same  words  to  your  Sydney." 

"Bother  Sydney!"  cried  Harry,  in  un 
feigned  vexation. 

At  this  Katie,  whose  head  had  been  for 
a  moment  averted,  now  turned  her  tearful 
eyes  on  him,  and  Harry  once  more  took 
her  in  his  arms. 

"  But  clo  you,  after  all,"  said  she—"  do 
you,  after  all,  care  for  me  just  a  little  bit, 
Harry?" 


166 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


"  Care  for  you  ?"  cried  Harry,  with  head 
long  impetuosity.  "  I  swear,  Katie,  that  I 
love  you  better  than  all  the  world.  I  will 
give  up  everything  for  you.  Will  you  do 
as  much  for  me?" 

"  Why — why — how  can  I  help  it  ?"  said 
Katie. 

At  this  reply  Harry  kissed  her  again. 

"You — you — offered  your  life  for  me," 
said  Katie,  in  tearful  agitation,  u  and  didn't 
I  almost  give  my  life  for  you,  you  dear  old 
boy  ?  You  don't  know  all  yet.  You  don't 
know  that  it  was  for  your  sake  only,  and  to 
save  you  from  death,  that  I  consented  to 
sacrifice  myself  to  that  awful  man." 

Katie  now  told  Harry  the  whole  story, 
and  the  effect  of  this  narration  was  only 
to  intensify  the  ardent  love  of  this  volatile 
youth.  While  he  had  been  face  to  face 
with  Talbot,  he  had  undergone  a  severe 
struggle  from  conflicting  emotions  and  im 
pulses.  But,  now  Katie  was  before  him, 
Talbot  was  present  no  longer;  and  Katie 
was  so  sweet,  so  tender,  so  trustful,  and, 
above  all,  she  had  such  a  story  to  tell,  that 
he  could  not  resist.  Talbot's  claims  on 
him  became  less  and  less  perceptible  in 
those  new  ones  which  Katie  presented; 
and  so  the  consequence  was  that  he  yield 
ed  up  everything — his  honor,  his  loyalty, 
and  his  duty. 

"  Katie,"  said  he,  as  he  pressed  her  in  his 
arms,  "I  love  you  alone — I'll  give  up  all 
for  you.  Let  us  fly  from  this  place ;  let 
us  fly.  Let  us  not  wait  here  where  these 
other  people  are." 

" Fly  ?"  said  Katie  ;  "  where?" 

"Yes,  fly!" 

"  But  how  can  we  get  out  ?  Shall  we  go 
out  boldly  through  the  gate  ?" 

Suddenly  some  one  came  between  them, 
and  a  voice  chimed  into  the  conversation. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  voice, "  fly  !  That's  the 
ticket.  There's  a  devil  here — a  she-devil. 
I'll  show  you  the  way  out.  If  you  want  to 
get  off  without  Ashby  seeing  you,  Til  show 
you  how ;  I  know  the  way.  It's  a  secret 
passage.  That's  how  I  escaped  the  last 
time ;  and  I'll  take  you  to  it  when  it  gets 
dark." 

It  was  Russell  who  had  thus  interposed. 
Harry  and  Katie  showed  no  resentment 
whatever  at  his  intrusion,  but  caught  at  his 
suggestion.  Russell  alluded  with  clumsy 
and  rather  vulgar  playfulness  to  their  ten 
der  relations,  and  offered,  as  guardian,  to 
give  Katie  away  the  moment  they  should 
find  a  parson. 


Meanwhile  Dolores  had  gone  out  into 
the  court-yard,  followed  by  Ashby.  There 
they  stopped,  and  looked  at  one  another  in 
silence. 

"  Who's  that  fellow  ?"  said  Ashby  at  last. 

Dolores  explained  that  he  was  a  friend 
of  hers  who  had  been  of  great  help  in 
Cuba.  She  did  not  tell  how  tender  their 
relations  had  been. 

"H'm!"  said  Ashby.  "Never  heard  of 
him  before.  You  seemed  very  intimate." 

"  He  saved  my  life,"  said  Dolores. 

"  Saved  your  life  ?" 

Dolores  sighed. 

Then  more  of  her  story  escaped  her.  At 
last  the  whole  truth  came  out. 

"  What !"  said  Ashby  ;  "  and  so  you  were 
engaged.  In  fact,  the  fellow  is  an  old 
lover." 

Dolores  said  nothing,  but  looked  at  Ash- 
by  with  mournful  inquiry,  as  though  ap 
pealing  to  him  to  know  what  she  ought 
to  do. 

"  How  did  he  get  here  ?"  asked  Ashby, 
calmly. 

"  He  has  been  seeking  for  me  all  these 
years,  and  traced  me  here,  and  was  cap 
tured." 

"H'm!  that's  devotion,"  said  Ashby. 
"  And  who's  his  friend — the  girl  that  was 
disguised  as  priest  ?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"So  she's  a  girl,"  said  Ashby;  "and  so 
that's  the  reason  she  wouldn't  marry  Lopez 
and  Katie.  A  most  infernally  pretty  girl. 
Who  is  she,  did  you  say  ?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Didn't  your — your  friend  tell  you  ?" 

"  No." 

It  may  be  supposed  that  Ashby  should 
have  known  Brooke's  feelings  toward  this 
"priest"  by  his  devotion  to  her  in  saving 
her  life.  But  it  was  not  so.  Brooke's  des 
perate  act  in  flinging  himself  before  Lopez 
seemed  to  Ashby  merely  an  accident  con 
sequent  upon  his  struggle  with  his  captors. 
Besides,  the  attack  of  Dolores  and  her  six 
Carlists  had  followed  so  closely  upon  this, 
that  all  had  become  confused  together. 

While  Ashby  had  been  asking  these  few 
questions,  Dolores  remained  looking  at  him 
with  that  same  mournful  inquiry.  Ashby 
noticed  it,  for  he  looked  at  her  several 
times,  though  each  time  he  looked  away 
elsewhere.  He  was  turning  over  all  this  in 
his  mind. 

At  length  he  looked  at  her  once  more, 
and  took  her  hands  in  his. 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


167 


"Dolores,"  said  lie,  "  I  have  made  up  my 
mind." 

"  What  ?"  said  she,  in  a  faint  voice,  look 
ing  up  at  him  in  awful  suspense. 

u  I  will  not  give  you  up !  That's  de 
cided.  You  must  dismiss  the  idea  from 
your  mind." 

In  an  instant  the  shadow  of  anxiety  fled 
from  the  face  of  Dolores,  followed  b'y  a 
flash  of  joy  like  a  sunbeam.  She  said  not 
a  word,  but  Ashby  saw  that  rush  of  happi 
ness,  and  all  his  own  nature  responded. 

"You  must  come  with  me,"  said  he. 
"  That  fellow  may  look  out  for  himself." 

"  But— but— "  said  Dolores.   She  paused. 

"  What  ?" 

"  We — we — are — engaged." 

«  Pooh  !"  said  Ashby.  "  That's  an  old 
story." 

"But— but— " 

"  Well  ?"  said  Ashby,  impatiently,  as  she 
paused. 

"  He — he — saved  my  life  once." 

"He  be  hanged!"  said  Ashby.  "I'll 
save  your  life  fifty  times.  You  mustn't 
think  of  that  man  again.  Do  you  hear, 
Dolores  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Dolores,  meekly ; "  but  I  only 
want  to  satisfy  my  conscience,  and  find  out 
my  duty." 

"  Conscience  ?  Duty  ?  Ah !"  repeated 
Ashby.  "  Well,  then,  I'll  tell  you  what  to 
think  of—  think  of  me!  Here  was  I,  en 
gaged  to  that  English  maiden.  You  have 
won  my  love.  You  have  made  me  indif 
ferent  to  her.  You  have  made  my  love 
grow  stronger  and  stronger  every  moment, 
until  now  I'm  ready  to  give  up  everything 
for  you.  Your  duty,  therefore,  is  to  be 
true  to  me,  as  I  will  be  true  to  you." 

Dolores  looked  up  again  with  her  face 
in  a  rapture  of  gladness,  and  Ashby  pressed 
her  hands  more  closely  in  his.  Then  they 
walked  away  to  inspect  the  fortifications. 


CHAPTER  LVI. 

IN  WHICH  THERE  IS  A  TERRIBLE  CALAMITY. 

RUSSELL'S  advent  among  the  embarrass 
ed  lovers  can  easily  be  explained.  Seated 
at  the  gate  in  the  uniform  of  a  general, 
with  gorgeous  array  of  blue  and  gold,  with 
a  sword  in  his  manly  hand,  and  armed 
warriors  around  him,  his  martial  soul  had 
gradually  lost  its  terrors,  and  his  mind  was 
at  leisure  to  think  of  other  things. 


First  among  these  other  things  was  that 
precious  package  which  he  had  concealed. 
Now  was  the  time  for  him  to  look  them  up 
and  regain  possession.  None  but  friends 
were  now  in  the  castle.  Those  bonds  were 
now  safer  in  his  own  possession  than  any 
where  else,  and  never  could  he  hope  for  a 
better  chance  than  this.  As  for  Rita,  she 
must  have  fled,  he  thought,  with  the  other 
fugitives,  and  with  her  had  fled  his  worst 
fear. 

With  such  thoughts  as  these,  the  martial 
Russell  sheathed  his  warlike  sword  and 
walked  back  again  toward  the  castle.  Here 
he  entered  the  hall  where  the  others  were 
talking,  and,  passing  through,  entered  the 
well-remembered  room  where  he  had  been 
confined.  He  looked  all  around.  He  was 
alone.  He  walked  to  the  chimney.  He 
looked  up.  Through  the  broad  opening 
at  the  top  he  saw  the  sky.  In  the  gloom 
of  the  shaft  he  saw  also  that  opening  in 
which  he  had  placed  the  precious  parcel. 

All  seemed  as  it  had  been,  and  he  felt 
convinced  that  his  papers  were  safe.  Fur 
ther  examination,  however,  was,  just  now, 
not  advisable.  He  would  have  to  light  a 
torch,  and  some  of  his  friends  might  come 
in  just  as  he  was  going  up  or  coming 
down.  So  he  concluded  to  defer  his  search 
until  they  had  gone  out  of  the  way  a  little, 
until  which  time  the  package  would  be 
quite  safe.  In  the  mean  time  he  thought 
he  would  go  back  and  hear  what  they  were 
all  talking  about. 

Coming  back  again,  he  saw  them  all  go 
ing  in  different  directions,  and,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  he  followed  those  who  were  near 
est  and  dearest,  namely,  Katie  and  Harry. 
He  stood  and  listened  with  a  benignant 
smile  to  their  loving  words.  He  gazed 
complacently  upon  their  outrageous  and 
unbounded  spooning.  He  had  no  objec 
tion  now  to  any  one  whom  Katie  might 
choose.  To  Ashby  he  felt  repugnance  on 
account  of  former  quarrels,  but  to  Harry 
none  whatever.  Even  to  Ashby  he  would 
have  yielded,  for  prejudices  die  out  quick 
ly  in  a  Castle  of  Spain.  And  so,  as  we 
have  seen,  the  good  Russell  interrupted  the 
happy  lovers  in  a  paternal  way,  and  did 
the  "  heavy  father  "  to  perfection  — •  with 
outstretched  hands,  moistened  eyes,  and 
"  Bless  you,  bless  you,  my  children  !" 

The  subject  of  flight  was  already  before 
them,  and  this  was  for  Russell  the  most  ac 
ceptable  possible.  He  felt  that  he  could 
give  valuable  information,  since  he  himself 


168 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


had  been  a  fugitive.  Every  step  of  the 
way  was  well  remembered  by  him.  In  a 
few  minutes  he  had  made  them  acquainted 
with  the  story  of  his  former  escape,  and  the 
adventurous  Harry  at  once  decided  that 
this  would  be  the  very  way  by  which  he 
could  carry  off  Katie  and  himself  from 
their  embarrassing  surroundings.  For  va 
rious  reasons  he  wished  to  go  away  in  a 
quiet,  unobtrusive  manner,  without  osten 
tation  or  vain  display,  and  in  no  other  way 
could  he  do  it  so  effectually  as  in  this. 

Harry  at  once  decided  that  his  best 
course  would  be  to  spend  the  hours  of 
closing  day  in  making  himself  acquainted 
with  this  passage.  He  did  not  feel  inclined 
to  be  altogether  dependent  upon  Russell. 
Circumstances  might  arise  which  might 
make  it  desirable  to  fly  without  him.  That 
good  man  might  become  suddenly  unwell, 
or  there  might  be  an  attack  by  the  enemy, 
or  other  things  might  occur,  under  any  of 
which  circumstances  Harry  would  have  to 
rely  upon  himself  alone. 

Russell  had  no  objections;  in  fact,  he 
himself  preferred  going  over  the  way  once 
more.  About  this  there  was  no  difficulty. 
There  were  very  few  in  the  castle,  and 
these  had  no  idea  of  watching  each  other ; 
in  fact,  each  party  seemed  only  too  anxious 
to  keep  out  of  the  other's  way. 

Katie  now  retired  to  that  room  which 
she  had  last  occupied,  and  Harry  went  off 
with  Russell.  The  daylight  befriended 
them  so  that  they  were  able  to  find  their 
way  along  the  lower  passages,  until  at 
length  they  came  to  the  opening  under  the 
arch  of  the  ruined  bridge.  Here  they  both 
went  down  one  side  of  the  chasm  and  up 
the  other  until  they  both  reached  the  tow 
er.  Harry  was  delighted  with  this  discov 
ery,  and  felt  fully  capable  of  traversing  the 
path  himself  even  in  the  darkest  night; 
while  Russell,  though  a  little  out  of  breath, 
was  quite  willing  to  bear  the  fatigue  in  re 
turn  for  the  additional  knowledge  he  had 
gained. 

On  regaining  the  castle,  Harry  went  to 
tell  Katie  the  result,  and  to  prepare  her 
for  their  coming  flight. 

Russell  now  had  leisure  to  attend  to  the 
great  work  of  securing  the  hidden  treas 
ure.  He  decided  that  he  ought  to  do  this 
in  perfect  secrecy,  so  that  none  of  his  friends 
should  know  where  he  was  going,  or  even 
suspect  it. 

First  of  all,  he  followed  Harry  to  the  up 
per  story,  where  he  took  an  affectionate 


leave  of  him.  Then  he  prowled  about  until 
he  discovered  Ashby,  who  was  with  Do 
lores  in  a  remote  part  of  the  court-yard. 
The  six  Carlists  were  still  at  the  gate.  The 
other  two  inmates  of  the  castle,  namely, 
Brooke  and  Talbot,  were  in  the  room  in 
which  the  recent  stormy  events  had  taken 
place.  They  had  been  attending  to  the 
wounds  of  the  prisoners,  and  were  still  so 
engaged  that  they  did  not  look  up  as  Rus 
sell  entered.  He  said  nothing,  but  hastily 
retreated  and  went  into  the  opposite  room 
— the  very  one  in  which  he  was  to  conduct 
his  operations.  But  he  was  too  cautious  to 
begin  just  yet ;  so  he  waited,  and  at  length 
had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  these  two  go 
down-stairs  and  out  of  the  castle. 

And  now  at  last  the  time  had  come. 
There  was  no  eye  to  behold-  him,  and  no 
one  to  suspect. 

An  old  torch  was  in  the  fireplace.  This 
he  picked  up,  and  then,  going  back  to  the 
door,  looked  all  around  stealthily  and  war 
ily.  All  was  still. 

Thereupon  he  returned.  His  manly 
heart  was  throbbing  fast — violently,  even 
painfully.  The  sense  of  loneliness  was  op 
pressive.  Had  his  purpose  been  less  im 
portant,  he  would  certainly  have  turned 
and  fled.  But  too  much  was  at  stake.  Be 
fore  him  there  arose  the  vision  of  that  vast 
treasure — thirty  thousand  pounds— and  its 
attraction  was  irresistible.  He  must  go 
forward ;  and  now  was  the  time  to  win,  or 
never. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  gathering  up  his 
courage. 

What  if  Rita  should  be  concealed  some 
where  up  there ! 

Such  was  the  awful  thought  that  sud 
denly  occurred  to  him  and  made  him  quail. 

The  idea  suggested  itself  of  going  back 
to  Harry  and  getting  his  aid.  But  no,  that 
would  never  do.  He  would  let  it  be  sup 
posed  that  these  bonds  had  been  taken 
from  him.  If  he  were  to  tell  his  secret  to 
Harry,  all  would  be  lost.  No ;  he  must  go, 
and  alone. 

Once  more  he  went  to  the  door  and  lis 
tened.  All  was  still. 

He  now  nerved  himself  up  for  a  supreme 
effort.  If  he  were  to  delay  any  longer, 
some  of  them  would  be  sure  to  return. 
Now  or  never. 

He  struck  a  match  against  the  stone 
floor.  It  kindled. 

In  another  moment  the  torch  was  blaz 
ing  brightly;  and,  holding  this  in  one 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


169 


hand,  Russell  used  his  other  hand  to  clain- 
ber  up  the  projecting  stones. 

Up  he  went,  higher  and  higher. 

And  now  he  reached  the  opening,  and 
his  knee  was  resting  upon  it,  and  he  was 
just  about  to  raise  the  torch  so  as  to  peer 
in. 

At  that  instant  there  was  a  sudden  rush, 
and  a  spring,  that  sent  a  thrill  of  sharp 
agony  to  his  heart.  A  pair  of  strong  arms 
were  flung  about  him.  The  torch  fell,  and 
the  smoke  blinded  his  eyes.  He  felt  him 
self  dragged  forward  helplessly  into  the 
gloomy  hole,  while  a  fierce  whisper  hissed 
into  his  despairing  ears  words  that  made 
him  almost  die  out  of  sheer  fright — 

"  Hah !  base  traidor,  I  haffa  you  !  I  haifa 
you !  You  salla  not  scappar  from  Rita 
again !" 

At  this  Russell  gave  a  wild,  long,  pierc 
ing  yell,  and  fainted. 


CHAPTER  LVII. 

IN    WHICH    BROOKE    AND    TALBOT   PREPARE    TO    BID 
EACH   OTHER   AN   ETERNAL   FAREWELL. 

ON  turning  away  from  that  eventful 
meeting  with  old  friends,  both  Brooke  and 
Talbot  felt  very  greatly  depressed,  and 
neither  could  say  a  word.  This  feeling  was 
experienced  by  both  to  an  equal  degree; 
and  neither  of  them  could  see  any  possible 
way  out  of  this  new  difficulty  that  could 
commend  itself  to  an  honorable  mind. 

The  conversation  with  Harry  had  quite 
overwhelmed  Talbot.  He  had  been  so 
eager  to  explain,  and  the  explanations  had 
shown  such  fidelity  on  his  part,  he  had 
seemed  so  true,  and  his  vindication  had 
been  so  complete,  that  she  had  not  one 
word  to  say.  For  the  fact  remained  plain 
before  her  mind  that  the  cause  of  his  fail 
ing  to  receive  her  at  Barcelona  was  his 
very  eagerness  to  meet  her  which  had  sent 
him  flying  in  all  haste  to  England.  If  he 
had  ever  been  in  fault,  the  fault  was  one 
which  had  arisen  from  excess  of  love.  To 
a  generous  mind  like  Talbot's  this  was  a 
most  distressing  thought. 

Still,  there  was  another  thought  which 
was  worse,  and  that  was  this  —  namely, 
that  Harry  could  no  longer  satisfy  her. 
Whether  she  had  ever  really  loved  him  or 
not  she  did  not  now  stop  to  inquire,  nor 
was  such  an  inquiry  worth  making.  It 
was  only  too  evident  now  that  Harry  had 
declined  to  nothingness,  and  less  than  noth 


ingness,  in  her  heart,  and  that  in  the  course 
of  the  tragical  events  of  the  last  few  days 
Brooke  had  grown  to  be  more  than  all  the 
world  to  her. 

The  feelings  and  thoughts  of  Brooke 
were  of  the  same  description.  It  had 
seemed  to  him  that  Dolores  had  been  faith 
ful  ;  and  as  he  had  all  along  felt  firmly 
convinced  of  her  passionate  love  for  him 
self  and  unalterable  fidelity,  it  never  enter 
ed  into  his  head  now  to  suspect  any  change 
in  her.  At  the  same  time,  he  felt  that, 
whether  he  had  ever  loved  her  formerly  or 
not,  he  certainly  had  no  feeling  of  love  for 
her  now ;  for  Talbot  had  utterly  effaced 
that  former  image,  and  all  the  world  would 
now  be  as  nothing  to  him  without  Talbot. 

For  some  time  they  devoted  themselves 
to  the  wounded  men,  and  then,  having  fin 
ished  this  task,  they  retreated  to  the  far 
thest  end  of  the  room.  Here  there  was  a 
rude  bench,  upon  which  they  seated  them 
selves,  and  remained  thus  for  a  long  time 
in  utter  silence. 

"  You  saw  my  meeting  with — with  that 
— young  lady,"  said  Brooke,  at  last.  "  Did 
you  understand  who  it  was  ?  It  was — Do 
lores." 

"I  know,"  said  Talbot,  with  a  heavy 
sigh.  "And  did  you  observe  my  meeting 
with  that  gentleman  ?  Did  you  understand 
that  ?" 

"What!"  cried  Brooke,  in  amazement 
at  the  suggestion  which  was  conveyed  by 
Talbot's  words.  He  had  not  had  leisure  to 
notice  or  think  of  any  one  except  Dolores. 

"  It  was  Mr.  Rivers,"  said  Talbot. 

"The  devil!"  cried  Brooke,  with  a 
groan. 

At  this  Talbot  very  properly  said  noth 
ing. 

"  Well,"  said  Brooke,  after  a  long  pause, 
"  I  didn't  know  that  things  could  possibly 
be  more  infernally  embarrassing  or  more 
confoundedly  complicated  than  they  were; 
but  this  is  certainly  a  little  beyond  w^hat  I 
dreamed  of.  And — and — " 

He  turned  with  a  despairing  look  and 
took  Talbot's  hand. 

"  What,  Brooke  ?" 

"  Am — am  I — to — to — congratulate  you 
— and  all  that  ?"  he  stammered. 

"  What !"  said  Talbot,  reproachfully. 

Brooke  was  silent. 

"  Oh,  Brooke,"  said  Talbot,  "  what  are 
we  to  do  ?" 

"  Give  it  up,"  said  Brooke,  in  a  dismal 
voice. 


170 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


"  This,"  continued  Talbot,  "  is  worse 
than  when  we  were  prisoners,  and  dying 
by  turns  for  one  another." 

"  I  wish,"  said  Brooke,  "  that  I  had  died 
when  I  wanted  to." 

"And  must  we  now  give  one  another 
up  ?"  sighed  Talbot. 

"  Don't  see  what  else  we  can  do,"  said 
Brooke.  "We've  got  to  keep  our  con 
founded  promises." 

"  Which  promises,  Brooke  ?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Brooke !" 

"  What  ?" 

"What  ought  I  to  do?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Ought  I  to  keep  my  promise  ?" 

"  Which  promise  ?" 

"  Why,  my  promise  to— to  Mr.  Rivers." 

"D — n  Mr.  Rivers!"  growled  Brooke, 
turning  away. 

"That,"  said  Talbot,  mildly,  "is  not  an 
answer  to  niy  question." 

"  But  how  do  I  know  ?"  said  Brooke,  in 
a  voice  like  a  wailing  child. 

"But  how  can  I?  how  can  I?"  cried 
Talbot.  "  And  when  you  are  here  —  you, 
Brooke,  who  know  all  my  heart !  Can  I 
give  you  up?  I  cannot!  You  may  give 
me  up,  if  you  like." 

"Why  don't  you  say,  if  I  can?"  said 
Brooke. 

"  Oh — any  way,"  said  Talbot,  wearily. 

There  was  another  silence. 

"Marry  Mm!"  cried  Talbot,  at  last, 
breaking  the  silence  with  vehement  ab 
ruptness.  "  I  cannot !  I  cannot !  It  would 
be  wicked.  I  should  desecrate  the  holy 
sacrament.  I  could  not  utter  that  vow  be 
fore  the  holy  altar.  Never !  Yet  I  can't 
stay  here  where  he  is.  He  will  be  wishing 
to  see  me.  He  will  be  coming  soon — he 
may  be  coming  now.  I  will  not  see  him. 
I  will  not  speak  with  him  again.  I  will 
write  to  him.  I  will  leave  this  place,  and 
at  once." 

"Leave  this  place!"  repeated  Brooke. 
"  Where  can  you  go  ?" 

"  Why,  I'll  go  home,"  said  Talbot,  firmly. 

"  Home  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"How  can  you?  You  don't  know  the 
way." 

"  I  know  one  place  where  I  can  go— to 
that  tower — that  sweet  tower ;  it  is  not  far 
away ;  it  must  be  easy  to  get  there.  I  will 
go  there— there,  Brooke,  where  I  first  be 
came  acquainted  with  you ;  and  then — " 


Here  Talbot  paused,  and  turned  away 
her  head. 

"But  you  can't  live  there,"  said  Brooke, 
in  a  harsh  voice. 

"I  can  find  my  way  back  to  the  road," 
said  Talbot,  in  a  tremulous  tone — "  to  the 
road  where  I  first  met  you,  Brooke;  and 
then  —  why,  then  I  shall  be  no  worse  off 
than  when  you  found  me  and  assisted  me." 

"  It's  all  nonsense,"  said  Brooke ;  "  you 
can't  go  alone." 

"  Yes,  I  can." 

"  You'll  be  taken  prisoner." 

"  I  don't  care." 

"  Or,  if  not,  you'll  die  of  starvation." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Talbot,  in  a  calm  voice, 
and  looking  at  Brooke  out  of  serene  eyes, 
with  a  face  from  which  all  traces  of  emo 
tion  had  departed  —  "very  well;  I  have 
already  showed  that  I  am  not  afraid  of 
death ;  and  death  by  starvation  is  not  more 
terrible  than  death  by  bullets." 

Brooke  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  in 
silence,  and  then  said, 

"  You  are  not  in  earnest  ?" 

"I  am  in  earnest,"  said  Talbot,  looking 
at  him  fixedly,  and  speaking  in  a  resolute 
tone — "  I  am  in  earnest,  and  I  mean  to  go 
this  very  night." 

Brooke  looked  away,  drew  a  long  breath, 
and  subsided  into  silence. 

"  How  can  you  find  the  way  ?"  he  asked 
at  length,  in  a  gruff  voice,  and  without 
looking  up. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Talbot ;  "  I  can  try 
again,  as  I  tried  before." 

Brooke  looked  up  hastily,  then  looked 
away,  and  finally  said, 

"I  think,  Talbot,  you  might  ask  me  to 
show  you  the  way." 

At  this  Talbot's  face  flushed,  and  all 
her  expression  was  suddenly  changed  from 
one  of  dull  dejection  to  animation  and 
delight. 

"  Will  you  ?"  she  asked,  breathlessly. 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Brooke,  "  that  isn't  much 
to  do.  Oh  yes,  I  can  easily  show  you  the 
way  to  the  tower.  After  all,  it  is  as  safe 
there  as  here ;  and  if  you  are  determined 
to  go,  why,  we  can  start,  you  know — at  any 
time,  you  know." 

"  But  will  you — can  you — will  you,  real 
ly?"  said  Talbot,  who  seemed  quite  over 
whelmed  at  this  unexpected  offer.  "  Then 
you  have  your  human  weakness,  after  all, 
have  you,  Brooke  ?  You  will  not  sacrifice 
me  to  a  punctilio,  will  you  ?  you  will  not 
et  your  poor  Talbot  go  away  all  alone  ?'' 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


171 


"  No,"  said  Brooke,  softly,  "  I  will  not 
let  my  Talbot  go  away  all  alone." 

Talbot  cast  a  swift  glance  at  him,  as  if 
to  read  his  soul.  Brooke's  eye  met  hers, 
but  only  for  an  instant.  Then  he  looked 
away.  Again  there  was  quick  and  active 
within  him  that  old  vigilant  feeling  that 
kept  him  on  guard  against  being  surprised 
and  overpowered  by  passion.  Within  his 
heart  there  had  already  been  a  fierce  strug 
gle  between  love  and  honor.  Love  had 
once  conquered,  and  that  completely ;  but 
the  appearance  of  Dolores  had  roused  his 
conscience,  and  made  him  once  more  aware 
of  the  bond  that  lay  in  his  plighted  word. 
Could  he  again  break  that  word  ?  Could 
he  sacrifice  his  honor  for  good  almost  in 
the  very  presence  of  her  whom  he  supposed 
to  be  his  loving  and  faithful  Dolores? 
Could  he  do  such  a  deed  as  this,  and  sully 
his  soul  even  for  Talbot  ?  Yet,  on  the  oth 
er  hand,  how  could  he  bring  himself  to 
give  her  up  ?  Give  her  up — the  "  lad  Tal 
bot,"  whom  he  loved  as  he  had  never  loved 
any  other  human  being  !  How  could  he  ? 
And  thus  love  drew  him  impetuously  in 
one  direction,  while  duty  sternly  and  im 
periously  drove  him  back;  and  so  there 
went  on  in  the  breast  of  this  newspaper 
correspondent  a  struggle  the  like  of  which 
does  not  often  come  within  the  experience 
of  gentlemen  of  the  press. 

"  You  will  see  me  as  far  as  the  tower  ?" 
said  Talbot,  pathetically. 

"  Yes,"  murmured  Brooke. 

"And  there,"  continued  Talbot,  in  the 
same  tone,  "  we  can  say  to  one  another  our 
last  farewells." 

Brooke  said  nothing.  The  struggle  still 
raged  within  him,  and  was  as  far  from  a 
decisive  end  as  ever.  The  prospect  of 
parting  with  Talbot  filled  him  with  a  sense 
of  horrible  desolation,  and  the  one  idea 
now  in  his  mind  was  that  of  accompanying 
her  wherever  she  might  go.  He  did  not 
look  far  into  the  future.  His  plans  were 
bounded  by  that  tower  to  which  Talbot 
was  going.  This  much  he  might  do  with 
out  any  hesitation.  It  seemed  to  him  no 
more  than  Talbot's  due.  She  only  wanted 
to  go  as  far  as  that.  She  wished  to  be 
out  of  the  reach  of  Rivers.  She  didn't 
know  the  way  there.  He  could  certainly 
help  her  thus  far ;  in  fact,  it  would  be  im 
possible  for  him  not  to  do  that  much.  If 
Dolores  herself  were  present,  he  thought, 
she  could  not  object ;  in  fact,  she  could  do 
nothing  else  but  approve. 


Silence  now  followed,  which  lasted  for 
some  time,  and  at  length  Talbot  said,  with 
a  heavy  sigh, 

"  How  strange  it  is,  and  how  sad !  isn't 
it,  Brooke  ?" 

"  What  ?"  said  Brooke. 

"To  bid  good-bye." 

Brooke  was  silent. 

"To  bid  good-bye,"  repeated  Talbot, 
"  and  never  meet  again !" 

Brooke  drew  a  long  breath,  looked  at 
Talbot,  and  then  looked  away. 

"  Shall  we,  Brooke  ?"  asked  Talbot. 

"  Shall  we  what  ?"  said  Brooke,  harshly. 

"  Shall  we  ever  meet  again  ?" 

"  How  do  I  know  ?"  said  Brooke,  snap 
pishly. 

"And  yet  you  gave  your  life  for  me," 
said  Talbot,  pensively. 

"I  didn't,"  said  Brooke.  "It  was  you 
that  gave  your  life  for  me." 

"The  offer  was  made,"  said  Talbot, 
mournfully,  "  but  it  wasn't  accepted.  I 
wish  now  that  the  offer  had  been  accept 
ed." 

Brooke  raised  his  head  and  looked  at 
her  with  his  pale,  haggard  face,  whereon 
was  still  the  impression  of  that  great  ago 
ny  through  which  he  had  so  lately  passed. 
He  looked  at  her  with  all  his  unspeakable 
love  in  his  earnest,  yearning  gaze. 

"  Do  you  really  wish  that,  Talbot  ?" 

"  I  do,"  said  she,  sadly. 

"Oh,  my  darling!"  cried  Brooke — "my 
own  love,  and  my  only  love !  What  shall  I 
do  ?  Help  me  to  decide." 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  held  her 
pressed  convulsively  to  his  heart,  while 
Talbot  laid  her  head  on  his  shoulder  and 
wept. 

At  length  they  rose  to  go. 

Brooke  was  conscious  of  a  sense  of  pro 
found  relief  as  he  went  out  of  the  castle 
and  away  from  Dolores. 

On  reaching  the  gate,  Brooke  explained 
to  the  guard  that  he  and  the  lady  were 
going  out  for  a  little  walk. 

The  guard  suggested  that  there  might 
be  danger. 

Brooke  said  that  he  was  not  going  far 
away,  and  that  he  would  be  back.  In  this 
he  was  not  deceiving  them,  for  he  himself 
thought  that  he  would  be  coming  back 
again.  He  had  a  vague  idea  of  keeping 
Talbot  in  the  tower,  and  conveying  her 
food,  etc.,  from  the  castle,  as  he  had  done 
once  before. 


172 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


He  now  passed  through  the  gates,  ac 
companied  by  Talbot.  The  course  which 
he  took  was  the  same  that  he  had  taken 
on  the  occasion  of  his  first  visit  to  the  Car- 
lists  in  his  disguise  of  priest.  After  walk 
ing  for  some  distance  they  descended  into 
the  chasm,  and  at  length  reached  the  bot 
tom.  By  this  time  it  was  dusk,  and  twi 
light  was  coming  on  rapidly. 

They  then  began  the  ascent,  and  reached 
the  tower  without  any  difficulty. 

Here  they  paused  to  take  breath. 

But  no  sooner  had  they  stood  still  than 
they  were  aware  of  a  noise  without.  It 
was  a  noise  rather  distant,  yet  well  defined, 
and  sounded  as  if  a  multitude  were  ap 
proaching  the  place. 

"  Some  one's  coining,"  said  Talbot. 

"Yes,"  said  Brooke ;  "  we  must  go  back." 

They  hurried  back.  But  as  they  stood 
at  the  opening  they  heard  something  which 
once  more  startled  them. 

There  were  voices  and  footsteps  down 
the  chasm,  as  of  some  one  coming  up  the 
pathway. 

"  We  are  pursued  !"  said  Brooke. 

"We  are  captured!"  said  Talbot;  and 
then  she  added,  as  she  took  Brooke's  hands 
in  hers,  "But  oh,  Brooke,  how  I  should 
love  to  be  captured,  if  you  are  only  cap 
tured  with  me !" 

Brooke  said  nothing,  but  a  thrill  of  joy 
passed  through  him  at  the  thought. 


CHAPTER   LVIII. 

IN  WHICH  SOME  OLD  FRIENDS  REAPPEAR. 

DOLORES  and  Ashby  had  experienced 
none  of  that  inner  conflict  that  had  disturb 
ed  the  souls  of  Brooke  and  Talbot,  for  Ash- 
by  had  been  prompt  in  decision,  and  had 
taken  all  responsibility  from  Dolores.  She 
meekly  acquiesced  in  his  decision,  was  all 
the  happier  for  it,  and  prepared  with  the 
briskness  of  a  bird  to  carry  out  their  pur 
pose  of  flight.  She  led  Ashby  down  by 
the  same  way  through  which  she  had  for 
merly  conducted  "  His  Majesty,"  starting 
from  that  lower  room  in  which  Ashby  had 
been  confined.  Had  she  gone  from  one  of 
the  upper  rooms,  they  might,  perhaps,  have 
encountered  the  lurking  Rita,  and  thus 
have  rescued  the  unhappy  Russell  from  his 
vengeful  captor  and  from  his  coining  woe. 
But  such  was  not  to  be  their  lot.  It  was 
from  the  lower  room  that  they  started ;  and 


on  they  went,  to  the  no  small  amazement 
of  Ashby,  through  all  those  intricate  ways, 
until  at  length  they  emerged  from  the  in 
terior,  and  found  themselves  in  the  chasm. 
Here  the  moon  was  shining,  as  it  had  been 
during  all  the  eventful  days  in  which 
all  these  wonderful  and  authentic  advent 
ures  had  been  taking  place,  and  gave  them 
ample  light  by  which  to  find  the  path. 
Their  way  lay  along  the  lower  part  of  the 
chasm,  where  the  brook  was  foaming  and 
bubbling  and  dashing  on  its  way.  Before 
long  they  reached  the  place  where  the  path 
ascended  toward  the  tower.  Up  this  they 
proceeded. 

As  they  went  up  they  heard  voices.  Thus 
far  they  had  been  talking  with  one  anoth 
er  quite  merrily  and  carelessly,  but  these 
sounds  at  once  arrested  them.  They  stop 
ped  for  a  moment  and  listened  in  deep 
anxiety. 

The  sound  of  the  voices  seemed  to  draw 
nearer,  and  to  come  up  from  some  point  in 
the  pathway  behind  them,  as  though  oth 
ers  were  advancing  in  the  same  direc 
tion. 

"  We  are  pursued,"  said  Dolores. 

"  Who  would  pursue  us  ?"  said  Ashby. 

"  Mr.  Brooke,"  said  Dolores,  in  a  tone  of 
alarm.  "It  must  be  Mr.  Brooke.  He  has 
been  looking  for  me.  He  has  seen  us,  and 
is  pursuing  us." 

Ashby  muttered  a  curse. 

"Confound  him!"  said  he.  "Let  him 
keep  his  distance !  We  must  hurry  on 
faster." 

They  hurried  on. 

In  a  few  moments  they  had  reached  the 
tower.  Inside  that  tower  were  Brooke  and 
Talbot,  who  had  reached  it  some  time  be 
fore,  and  now  heard  the  sounds  made  by 
these  new-comers,  though  the  darkness  of 
the  interior  prevented  them  from  seeing 
who  they  were.  On  entering,  Dolores  drew 
Ashby  carefully  on  one  side.  Brooke  and 
Talbot  waited  in  breathless  suspense. 

But  now  other  sounds  startled  the  oc 
cupants  of  the  tower — the  sounds  as  of  an 
advancing  crowd.  Dolores  clung  in  terror 
to  Ashby,  and  drew  him  still  farther  on 
one  side. 

They  were  caught  —  that  was  plain. 
They  could  neither  advance  nor  retreat; 
for  now  already  they  heard  new-comers  at 
the  opening  through  which  they  had  just 
passed.  They  shrank  back  still  farther, 
and  Dolores  clung  more  closely  to  Ashby. 

These   new-comers,   however,  were   not 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


173 


very  formidable.  They  were  merely  Harry 
and  Katie. 

Harry  had  waited  for  some  time  in  ex 
pectation  of  being  joined  by  Russell.  To 
his  surprise,  that  worthy  person  did  not 
put  in  an  appearance.  He  could  not  ac 
count  for  this,  and  finally  concluded  that 
Russell  must  have  gone  ahead,  so  as  to 
take  his  time  about  it  and  save  himself  by 
daylight.  In  this  belief  Harry  resolved  to 
delay  no  longer,  and,  congratulating  him 
self  that  he  knew  the  way  so  well,  he 
started  off  with  Katie. 

He  went  with  all  the  caution  in  the 
world,  first  reconnoitring  to  see  that  no  one 
was  within  view,  and  then,  on  reaching  the 
side  door  which  gave  entrance  to  the  cel 
lars,  he  cautioned  Katie  to  keep  silence. 
In  this  way  they  went  on  silently  enough 
until  they  emerged  from  the  opening. 
Then  they  began  to  descend  the  chasm, 
and  here  Harry  felt  safe.  On  their  way 
clown  and  up  they  talked  and  laughed 
quite  freely,  and  these  were  the  voices 
which  had  startled  their  predecessors. 

At  length  they  reached  the  tower  and 
clambered  in.  The  moment  they  found 
themselves  inside  they  were  startled  by 
those  noises  which  had  already  terrified 
the  others,  and  which  had  now  drawn 
much  nearer. 

Katie  gave  a  low  cry  of  terror,  and  stood 
trembling  in  every  limb. 

Harry  was  quite  bewildered  at  this  sud 
den  and  unexpected  shock.  For  a  mo 
ment  he  thought  of  flight ;  but  that  was 
impossible,  for  Katie,  in  her  terror,  was  al 
most  fainting,  and  he  had  to  support  her 
while  she  clung  breathlessly  to  him.  And 
so  they  stood,  unable  to  move. 

The  noises  were  now  just  outside  — 
voices,  cries,  songs,  and  wild  laughter — all 
the  indications  of  a  lawless  crowd. 

Suddenly  some  one  burst  inside. 

"  Ha !"  he  cried,  in  Spanish,  "  here  it  is, 
but  it's  all  dark.  Bring  lights,  some  one. 
We  must  wait  here  till  the  others  come 
round  to  the  front ;  but  there's  no  reason 
why  we  shouldn't  have  lights.  We  can't 
be  seen  from  the  castle :  the  walls  here  are 
too  thick  to  be  transparent.  It's  just  the 
place  for  a  little  supper." 

A  number  of  others  now  came  forward 
and  entered.  The  fugitives  stood  clinging 
to  one  another  as  before,  expecting  the 
worst,  and  awaiting  with  intense  anxiety 
the  moment  when  lights  would  be  intro 
duced. 


There  was  now  the  flash  of  sudden  flames 
—  some  of  them  were  striking  matches. 
The  flames  leaped  forth,  and  soon  half  a 
dozen  torches  were  kindled,  and  then, 
blazing  and  smoking,  they  were  held  aloft, 
throwing  a  bright  light  upon  the  whole  in 
terior;  while  those  who  held  them  looked 
around  without  any  other  purpose,  just 
then,  than  to  find  some  convenient  place 
where  they  might  place  them,  so  as  to  save 
themselves  the  trouble  of  holding  them. 

In  that  one  instant  the  whole  scene  stood 
revealed. 

There  stood  Brooke,  with  Talbot  clinging 
to  him  ;  there  Harry,  with  his  arms  round 
Katie;  and  there  Ashby,  supporting  Do 
lores.  And  as  Ashby  and  Harry  stared  at 
these  noisy  new-comers,  they  saw  the  fa 
miliar  face  of  no  less  a  person  than  "  His 
Majesty." 

At  this  sight  they  were  filled  with  amaze 
ment  and  consternation.  Yet  their  amaze 
ment,  great  though  it  may  have  been,  was 
not  greater  than  that  of  "  His  Majesty." 
For  an  instant  he  stood  like  one  transfixed, 
and  then  exclaimed,  in  that  peculiar  Eng 
lish  which  he  spoke, 

"Howly  Moses!  but  this  bates  the 
worruld !"  and  then  stood  staring  at  each 
of  them. 

At  this  exclamation  Katie  started.  She 
recognized  the  voice  at  once  ;  and,  strange 
to  say,  all  her  terror  fled.  From  that  man 
she  felt  as  if  there  was  nothing  to  fear. 
She  looked  up,  and  showed  her  sweet  face 
all  smiles,  with  all  its  anxiety  and  all  its 
terror  vanished.  Dolores  also  heard  the 
English  words,  and  looked  up  in  surprise, 
recognizing  at  the  first  glance  that  familiar 
face.  Harry  and  Ashby  made  the  same 
discovery. 

But  there  were  other  discoveries  to  be 
made.  Their  eyes,  as  the  lights  shone 
around,  took  in  the  whole  scene;  and  it 
was  with  the  deepest  dismay  and  confusion 
that,  on  looking  around,  each  one  caught 
sight  of  his,  or  her,  old  lover ;  and,  what 
was  more,  the  feeling  of  each  one  was,  that 
the  other  had  come  in  pursuit,  to  claim  that 
vow  which  each  was  breaking. 

Harry  saw  Talbot,  and  felt  sure  that  she 
had  come  after  him  to  demand  a  new  ex 
planation,  and  to  reproach  him  for  this 
new  perfidy.  She  had  suffered,  he  felt, 
wrongs  that  were  intolerable  at  his  hands, 
and  his  heart  sank  within  him  at  this  new 
meeting.  He  seemed  to  himself  base  be 
yond  all  expression,  and  no  words  could 


174 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


be  found  with  which  he  might  excuse  him 
self. 

Brooke  saw  Dolores,  and  his  only  thought 
was  that  she  had  suspected  him,  had  watch 
ed  him,  had  tracked  him,  and  had  now 
corne  to  overwhelm  him  with  dishonor; 
and  he  felt  that  he  must  be  dumb  before 
her. 

Ashby  saw  Katie,  and  thought  that  she 
had  surely  come  in  pursuit  of  him;  that 
perhaps  his  suspicious  had  been  unfound 
ed  ;  that  she  loved  him ;  that  she  had  only 
been  trifling  with  Harry,  and  had  conie  to 
tear  him  from  Dolores. 

Talbot  saw  Harry  with  guilty  terror. 
She  had  fled  from  him,  and  intentionally. 
He  had  pursued;  he  had  come  to  claim 
her  hand — her  promised  hand ! 

Dolores  saw  Brooke  with  the  same  feel 
ings.  She  knew  him  as  the  chivalrous 
American  who  had  saved  her  life,  and  that 
of  her  mother,  in  their  direst  need ;  who 
had  won  her  heart  and  the  promise  of  her 
hand.  She  had  broken  her  word — she  had 
fled.  What  now  ?  With  what  eyes  could 
she  look  at  him  ?  With  what  words  could 
she  speak  to  him  ? 

Katie's  face  had  lightened  up  with  joy 
at  the  sight  of  "  His  Majesty,"  but  the  mo 
ment  afterward  it  clouded  over  with  fear 
and  apprehension  at  the  sight  of  Ashby. 
u'Tis  conscience  doth  make  cowards  of 
us  all,"  and  conscience  told  her  that  she 
had  treated  Ashby  very,  very  badly,  and 
that  he  had  followed  her  to  make  her  keep 
her  plighted  word.  And  so  she  only  clung 
to  Harry  more  closely  than  ever. 

And  so,  in  fact,  did  the  other  couples. 
They  all  clung  to  one  another  more  closely 
than  ever.  There  was  a  moment  of  embar 
rassment — intense,  awful,  tremendous. 

The  deep  silence  was  broken  by  the 
voice  of  "  His  Majesty." 

"Hersilf!"  he  cried,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
on  Katie  —  "hersilf!  begorra,  it's  hersilf! 
Share  an'  it  is !  an'  oh,  but  it's  mesilf  that's 
the  lucky  man  this  day !  An'  shure,  an' 
may  I  dhrop  dead  if  I  iver  saw  sich  a 
mayting  as  this !  Shure,  ye've  forgotten  all 
about  niy  offer  av  the  crown  av  Spain,  an' 
the  sceptre,  an'  the  throne.  Begorra,  ye've 
given  up  all  that  same  for  that  bit  av  a 
boy  that's  a  howldin'  av  ye.  An'  shure, 
we're  all  together  again,  so  we  are.  Here's 
welcome  to  yez  all — Messrs.  Rivers,  an' 
Ashby,  an'  the  ladies,  one  an'  all !  Mver 
fear,  I'll  take  good  care  av  yez  this  toime ! 
Only,  what's  become  av  Lord  Russell  ?  Be 


gorra,  it's  mesilf  that  'ud  loike  to  have  an 
other  look  at  that  same !" 

Talking  in  this  way,  with  frequent 
pauses,  "His  Majesty"  succeeded  in  ex 
pressing  his  feelings,  which  had  at  first 
seemed  quite  too  strong  for  utterance. 

Meanwhile,  the  soldiers  who  had  been 
inspecting  the  interior  had  found  conven 
ient  places  for  fixing  the  torches,  which 
now  flared  up,  throwing  a  bright  light 
around,  and  filling  the  tower  with  smoke. 

During  all  this  time  the  prisoners  had 
been  agitated  by  various  feelings.  Harry 
and  Ashby  saw  in  "  His  Majesty  "  a  remorse 
less  brigand,  whose  only  idea  was  plunder, 
and  who  would  now  hold  them  to  ransom 
as  before.  They  despaired  of  escape.  This 
new  capture  seemed  far  worse  than  the 
former  one,  yet  each  one  thought  less  of 
himself  than  of  that  dear  one  whom  he 
had  tried  to  save.  Thus  Harry  clung  to 
Katie,  and  Ashby  clung  to  Dolores,  more 
closely  than  ever.  Brooke  and  Talbot,  on 
the  contrary,  had  less  fear,  yet  they  had 
anxiety.  Brooke  recognized  in  "  His  Maj 
esty"  the  unscrupulous  Carlist  whom  he 
had  visited,  and  was  somewhat  uneasy 
about  a  recognition ;  while  Talbot,  seeing 
his  uneasiness,  felt  something  like  fear  her 
self. 

Yet,  in  the  midst  of  all  this,  they  all  alike 
made  one  discovery.  It  was  this :  each 
one  saw  that  his  or  her  old  love  had  be 
come  strangely  indifferent. 

Harry  saw  that  Talbot  was  clinging  to 
that  strange  man  whom  he  had  never  seen 
before,  but  who  now,  as  he  thought,  seem 
ed  uncommonly  sweet  on  her. 

Brooke  saw  that  Dolores  was  clinging 
for  support  to  another  strange  man.  She 
had  evidently  no  thought  for  him. 

Ashby  saw  at  once  that  Katie  thought 
of  no  one  but  Harry  Rivers. 

Talbot  saw  that  Harry  was  devoted  to 
that  lady  whom  lie  was  so  assiduously  sup 
porting  and  consoling.  She  was  utterly 
amazed  at  the  discovery,  yet  inexpressibly 
glad. 

Dolores,  in  her  delight,  saw  that  Brooke 
took  no  notice  of  herself,  but  devoted  him 
self  to  the  lady  with  him,  and  in  such  a 
fervent  manner  that  she  understood  it  all 
without  being  told. 

Katie  also  saw  that  Ashby  had  forgotten 
all  about  her,  and  thought  of  nothing  but 
Dolores. 

And  at  this  discovery,  which  flashed  al 
most  simultaneously  upon  them,  each  one 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


175 


felt  the  most  inexpressible  joy.  At  the 
same  time  the  whole  truth  came  upon 
them.  Each  one,  instead  of  pursuing  the 
other,  had  been  trying  to  fly.  Each  lover 
had  found  a  new  and  more  congenial 
friend,  and  with  this  dear  friend  had  left 
the  castle.  Each  one  felt  equally  guilty, 
yet  equally  glad  ;  but  then  as  to  guilt, 
there  was  Brooke,  who  didn't  feel  guilty 
at  all  —  oh,  bless  you,  no! — he  had  only 
come  with  Talbot  as  far  as  the  tower! 

In  the  midst  of  all  this,  Harry  and  Ash- 
by  and  Brooke  were  amazed  at  the  Irish 
brogue  of  the  Carlist  chief,  who  had  for 
merly  spoken  to  them  in  Spanish. 

And  now,  while  they  were  thus  won 
dering,  who  should  come  in  but  a  certain 
female  in  a  very  peculiar  dress ;  for  this 
female  wore  what  looked  like  a  milita 
ry  cloak,  and  she  wore,  also,  an  officer's 
"  kepi,"  which  was  perched  upon  the  top 
of  her  chignon ;  which  female  took  a 
glance  around,  and  then  exclaimed, 

"  Well,  goodness  gracious  me  !  I  never  1 
Did  I  ever !  No,  never  !" 

"Auntie!"  screamed  Katie,  and  with 
this  she  rushed  toward  the  aforesaid  fe 
male,  who  was  no  other  than  Mrs.  Russell. 
She  flung  her  arms  around  that  lady,  and 
almost  smothered  her  with  kisses. 

"Dear  child,"  said  Mrs.  Russell,  "how 
impetuous  you  are  !  but  it's  natural  —  it's 
touching  —  it's  grateful  —  we  deserve  it, 
dear.  We  came  to  seek  and  to  save.  Bless 
you,  my  child,  and  may  you  be  happy ! 
"His  Majesty"  has  a  tender  heart,  and 
often  talks  of  you.  We  also  cherish  for 
you  a  fond  affection,  child;  but  in  future 
try  to  be  a  little  less  boisterous,  and  respect 
the  majesty  of  Spain." 

At  this  reception  Katie  was  quite  bewil 
dered.  It  was  only  by  a  strong  effort  that 
she  could  comprehend  it.  She  then  re 
called  that  old  nonsense  with  which  she 
had  amused  herself  when  she  had  suggest 
ed  that  Mrs.  Russell  should  marry  "  His 
Majesty;"  but  now  a  great  terror  seized 
her :  was  it  possible  that  Mrs.  Russell  had 
done  such  a  thing  ? 

"  Oh,  Auntie  !"  she  said  ;  "  oh,  Auntie ! 
you  haven't  —  you  haven't  —  done  —  done 
it?" 

"Done  it !"  said  Mrs.  Russell,  who  seem 
ed  at  once  to  understand  her ;  "  no,  child 
— not  yet ;  but  as  soon  as  the  affairs  of 
State  will  allow,  "  His  Majesty  "  says  that 
the  ceremony  shall  be  performed;  after 
which  comes  the  coronation,  you  know, 
12 


and  then,  dear,  I  shall  be  Queen,  and  you 
may  be  princess,  and  may  marry  the  proud 
est  of  all  the  Spanish  chivalry." 

At  this  Katie  was  so  terrified  that  she 
did  not  know  what  to  say.  The  only 
thought  she  had  was  that  "  Auntie  "  had 
gone  raving  mad.  She  knew  that  Mr.  Rus 
sell  was  alive  and  well,  for  she  had  seen 
him  only  a  short  time  before.  The  old  joke 
about  marrying  "  His  Majesty  "  had  been 
almost  forgotten  by  her;  and  to  find 
"Auntie"  now  as  full  as  ever  of  that  non 
sensical  piece  of  ambition  was  inexpressi 
bly  shocking  to  her.  Yet  she  did  not 
know  what  to  say.  To  disabuse  her  seem 
ed  impossible.  She  did  not  dare  to  tell 
her  that  Mr.  Russell  was  alive  ;  it  might  be 
dangerous.  "Auntie"  had  so  set  her  mind 
upon  this  insane  project  that  any  attempt 
to  thwart  her  would  certainly  draw  down 
vengeance  upon  the  head  of  the  one  who 
should  dare  to  attempt  it.  That  one  cer 
tainly  was  not  Katie.  She  liked,  as  far  as 
possible,  to  have  things  move  on  smoothly 
around  her;  and  so  the  only  thought  she 
now  had  was  to  chime  in  with  "Auntie's" 
fancy ;  to  humor  her,  as  one  would  humor 
an  insane  person,  and  to  hope  that  some 
thing  might  turn  up  in  time  to  prevent 
anything  "  dreadful." 

In  this  state  of  mind  Katie  went  on  talk 
ing  with  "Auntie."  But  "Auntie"  was 
hard  to  humor;  she  was  altogether  too 
grand  and  lofty  for  little  Katie.  In  fancy 
she  already  wore  a  crown,  and  talked  of 
the  throne,  the  sceptre,  and  the  majesty  of 
Spain  as  though  they  had  always  been  her 
private  property. 

"I've  been  two  or  three  days,"  said  she, 
"  with  '  His  Majesty.'  He  has  been  most 
kind.  His  royal  will  is  that  I  should  wear 
this  hat.  Do  you  think  it  is  becoming? 
Under  other  circumstances  I  should  be 
talked  about,  I  know ;  but  where  the  wel 
fare  of  Spain  is  concerned,  I  don't  care  for 
public  opinion.  When  I  am  seated  on  the 
throne  all  will  be  explained." 

At  such  a  torrent  as  this  poor  Katie 
could  only  take  refuge  in  silence. 


CHAPTER  LIX. 

HOW  A  SURPRISE-PARTY  IS   VERY  MUCH   SURPRISED. 

DURING  these  remarks  "His  Majesty" 
had  been  fumbling,  with  a  thoughtful  ex 
pression,  in  his  coat-pocket,  as  though  try- 


17C 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


ing  to  extricate  something,  the  bulk  of 
which  prevented  it  from  being  drawn  forth 
without  some  difficulty  ;  and  as  he  tugged 
and  fumbled  he  began  to  speak. 

"  I  came  here,"  said  he,  "  on  a  surprise- 
party,  an1  begorra  I  niver  was  so  surprised 
in  my  loife,  so  I  wasn't.  An'  be  the  same 
token,  as  it's  a  long  march  we've  had,  an' 
as  we've  got  to  wait  here  an  hour  or  so,  an' 
as  we're  on  the  ave  av  an  attack  an'  may 
niver  live  to  see  another  day,  shure  there's 
ivery  raison  in  loife"  —  and  with  this  he 
fumbled  still  more  vigorously  in  his  pock 
et — "why" — he  gave  a  thrust  and  a  pull 
— "  why  we  should  all  wet  our  whistles  " 
— he  gave  a  series  of  violent  twists — "  wid 
a  dhrop  av  soinethin'  warruiu ;"  and  with 
this  he  succeeded  in  getting  the  object  of 
his  attempts  extricated  from  his  pocket, 
and  proudly  displayed  before  the  eyes  of 
the  company  a  black  junk-bottle. 

The  others  looked  at  this  with  some 
surprise,  but  no  other  feeling.  The  whole 
proceeding  seemed  to  them  to  show  an  ill- 
timed  levity ;  and  if  it  was  serious,  it  cer 
tainly  seemed  very  bad  taste.  But  "  His 
Royal  Majesty"  was  in  a  very  gracious 
mood,  and  continued  to  run  on  in  his 
most  gay  and  affable  strain.  He  wandered 
round  among  the  company  and  offered  the 
bottle  to  each  in  turn.  When  they  all  re 
fused  he  seemed  both  surprised  and  hurt. 

"  Shure  it's  whiskey,  so  it  is,"  he  said,  as 
though  that  would  remove  all  objections ; 
but  this  information  did  not  produce  any 
effect. 

"Perhaps  it's  a  tumbler  ye'll  be  want- 
in',"  said  he.  "  Well,  well,  we're  sorry  we 
haven't  got  one ;  but  if  ye'll  take  a  taste 
out  av  the  bottle  ye'll  foind  it  moighty 
convaynient." 

Here  the  monarch  paused,  and,  raising 
the  bottle  to  his  own  royal  lips,  took  a 
long  draught.  As  he  swallowed  the  liquid 
his  eyes  closed  and  his  face  assumed  an 
expression  of  rapture.  He  then  offered  it 
to  all  once  more,  and  mourned  over  them 
because  they  refused. 

"  Oli,  but  it's  the  divoine  dhriuk !"  said 
he.  Then  he  grew  merrier,  and  began  to 
sing : 

"Oh,  Shakspeare,  Homer,  an'  all  the  poets 
Have  sung  for  ages  the  praise  av  woiue  ; 
But  if  they  iver  had  tasted  whiskey, 
They'd  have  called  it  the  only  dhrink  divoiue. 

"  Oh,  wnd  ye  have  a  receipt  for  toddy  ? 

Av  whiskey  ye  take  a  quart,  I  think  ; 
Thin  out  av  a  pint  av  bilin'  wather 
Ivery  dhrop  ye  add  will  spile  the  dhriuk  !" 


Ashby  had  been  talking  with  Dolores 
for  some  time.  He  now  came  forward,  Do 
lores  hanging  on  his  arm. 

"  Sir,"  said  he  to  "  His  Majesty,"  "  I  sup 
pose  we  must  again  consider  ourselves  your 
prisoners  ?" 

"Divvle  a  doubt  av  it,"  said  "His  Maj 
esty,"  with  a  wink  at  Dolores. 

"  The  other  time,"  said  Ashby,  "  you 
named  a  ransom,  and  said  that  on  the  pay 
ment  of  that  sum  you  would  allow  us  our 
liberty.  Will  you  now  name  a  sum  again 
— some  sum  that  I  can  pay  ?  I  engage  to 
have  it  in  less  than  a  week,  provided  that 
you  send  this  lady  in  safety  to  Vittoria. 
She  can  procure  the  money  for  me,  and  un 
til  then  I  shall  remain  your  prisoner." 

"Well,  that's  fair,"  said  "His  Majesty." 

"Will  you  do  it?" 

"  Begorra,  I  will." 

"  Will  you  name  the  sum  ?" 

"  I'll  think  about  it." 

At  this  Ashby  went  back  with  Dolores 
to  his  former  position,  and  they  resumed 
their  conversation.  But  Harry  had  heard 
every  word,  and  he  now  came  up,  with 
Katie  clinging  to  him. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  will  you  allow  me  to 
procure  my  ransom  in  the  same  way  ?  Will 
you  allow  this  lady  to  go  in  company  with 
the  other,  so  as  to  procure  the  amount 
needed  for  my  deliverance  ?" 

"  But  I  won't  go,"  said  Katie,  hurriedly. 

"What!"  said  Harry.  "Oh,  think— it's 
for  my  sake,  niy  life." 

"But  I  can't,"  said  Katie.  "I  know  I 
shall  never  see  you  again.  Besides,  what 
could  I  do  alone  ?" 

"  You  can  go  with  this  other  lady,  or 
with  your  aunt." 

"  Oh,  she  can't  go  with  me,"  said  Auntie. 
"  Nothing  would  induce  me  to  leave  His 
Majesty.  The  royal  cause  is  just  now  in  a 
critical  condition,  and  we  need  all  our  re 
sources." 

"Then  you  can  go  with  the  Spanish 
senorita,"  said  Harry. 

"  But  I'm  afraid,"  said  Katie. 

"  Afraid !"  said  Harry.  "  Why,  there  will 
be  no  danger.  You  will  be  sent  with  a 
guard." 

"Oh,  it's  not  that— it's  not  that,"  said 
Katie;  "it's  because  I'm  afraid  I  shall 
never  see  you  again.  And  it's  cruel — very, 
very  cruel  in  you !" 

At  this  "  His  Majesty "  wiped  his  eyes. 
Then  he  raised  his  bottle  and  took  another 
long  pull.  Then  he  heaved  a  sigh. 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


177 


"Arrah,  ye  rogue,''  said  he  to  Harry, 
"ye'vc  deludhered  that  poor  gyerrul  in- 
toirely.  She's  yours  out-an'-out — no  doubt 
av  that;  an'  sure  but  it's  dead  bate  an' 
heart-broke  intoirely  I'd  be,  so  I  would,  if 
it  wasn't  for  the  widdy  here,  that's  a  frind 
in  time  av  nade,  an'  has  a  heart  that's 
worth  its  weight  in  goold  sovereigns." 

"His  Majesty"  now  took  another  long, 
long  pull  at  the  black  bottle. 

41  If  it  wasn't  that  I  had  that  other  noble 
heart  til  fall  back  on,"  said  he,  as  he  wiped 
his  royal  eyes  with  the  back  of  his  royal 
hand,  "I'd  be  fairly  broken-hearted,  so  I 
would.  But  I'll  be  loike  Tim  in  the  song : 

"  '  Oh,  a  widely  she  lived  in  Limerick  town, 

Not  far  from  Shannon  water, 
An'  Tim  kept  company  wid  her, 

A  coortiu*  av  Biddy,  her  daughter. 
But  Micky  M'Graw  cut  in  between, 

And  run  away  wid  Biddy. 
"Begorra  I"  says  Tim,  "the  daughter's  gone, 
So,  faix,  I'll  take  the  widdy  1" 
The  widdy ! 
Not  Biddy ! 

The  fond  and  faithful  widdy  ! 
Whooroor !' " 

Singing  this,  the  jovial  monarch  caught 
Mrs.  Russell's  hand  in  his,  and  proceeded 
to  dance  in  a  manner  which  was  far  more 
boisterous  than  dignified.  Mrs.  Russell,  al 
ways  fond  and  indulgent,  lent  herself  to 
the  royal  whim,  and  danced  much  more 
vigorously  than  could  have  been  expected 
from,  a  person  of  her  years.  Katie  clapped 
her  hands  in  childish  glee.  The  Carlists 
all  applauded.  The  others  looked  puzzled. 
"  His  Majesty  "  finally  concluded  his  little 
dance,  after  which  Mrs.  Russell  clung  to 
him  in  a  languishing  attitude,  and  looked 
like  a  caricature  of  each  of  those  other 
younger  ladies  who  were  all  clinging  so 
fondly  to  their  respective  lovers.  The 
sight  of  Mrs.  Russell  in  that  languishing 
attitude  came  home  to  the  hearts  and  con 
sciences  of  the  younger  ladies,  who  all  re 
linquished  their  lovers'  arms,  and  insisted 
on  standing  by  themselves. 

Brooke  had  listened  thoughtfully  to  all 
that  had  thus  far  been  said.  The  Carlist 
chief  was  a  puzzle  to  him,  but  he  saw  that 
there  was  talk  of  holding  to  ransom,  which 
to  him  had  an  ugly  sound. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  are  we  to  be  kept  pris 
oners  in  this  tower  ?" 

"  This  tower,  is  it  ?"  said  "  His  Majesty." 
"Begorra,  I  hope  not.  There's  another 
tower  a  dale  betther  nor  this.  It's  mesilf 
that  'ud  be  the  proud  man  til  let  yez  all 
go,  an'  yez  'ud  all  be  prouder,  I'll  go  bail ; 


but  in  that  case,  shure  to  glory,  I'd  be  a 
loser;  but  I  hope  to  find  yez  comfortable 
quarthers  in  a  foine  stone  house  not  a  thou 
sand  moiles  from  this.  Ye'll  all  be  as  com 
fortable  as  ould  Dinny  M'Divitt  in  the 
song: 

'"In  a  beautiful  palace  av  stone 

Resoided  ould  Diuny  M'Divitt; 
He  wore  a  most  beautiful  ring 

That  were  fixed  round  his  wrist  wid  a  rivet. 
'Twas  the  judge,  shure,  that  sintiuced  him  there, 

An'  there  all  the  boys  wint  til  view  him, 
For  the  jury  considhered  him  dull 

At  disceruin'  twixt  "mayum"  and  "  chuum." 
So  fill  up  for  the  toast  an'  I'll  give  it: 
Here's  a  health  to  bowld  Dinny  M'Divitt !'" 

At  this  the  monarch  raised  the  bottle  to 
his  mouth  and  took  another  long,  long 
pull. 

From  this  Brooke  gathered  that  they 
were  to  be  taken  to  the  castle.  He  asked 
"His  Majesty"  if  this  were  so. 

"  Begorra,  ye've  hit  it,"  said  "  His  Majes 
ty." 

"  Is  there  anything  to  prevent  our  being 
taken  there  at  once  ?"  asked  Brooke. 

"  Bedad,  there's  iverything  in  loife. 
Shure,  I've  come  on  a  surprise -party  til 
capture  the  castle." 

It  occurred  to  Brooke  that  this  was  a 
curious  way  to  surprise  a  castle— by  kind 
ling  torches,  dancing,  and  singing  songs ; 
but  he  made  no  remark  upon  that.  He 
saw  that  the  chief  supposed  the  castle  to 
be  defended,  and  so  he  hastened  to  unde 
ceive  him. 

"  His  Majesty  "  listened  in  amazement  to 
Brooke's  story. 

"  Begorra,"  said  he,  "  here's  another  sur 
prise  !  Didn't  I  say  we  were  a  surprised 
party  ?  Shure,  an'  ye've  all  showed  pluck, 
ivery  man  jack  av  yez,  includin'  the  ladies. 
An'  that  same  '11  have  to  be  considhered  in 
our  thraitmint  wid  yez  about  the  ransom. 
Shure,  I'll  deduct  five  per  cint.,  so  I  will. 
Nobody  shall  say  we're  not  magnanimous. 
But  bein'  as  there's  nobody  there,  shure,  the 
best  thing  for  us  to  do  is  to  go  over  at 
onct  and  raysume  possission." 

With  these  words  the  monarch  retired  to 
give  orders  to  his  men,  and  in  a  short  time 
the  whole  band,  together  with  their  pris 
oners,  had  passed  over  and  had  taken  pos 
session. 


178 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


CHAPTER  LX. 


IN   WHICH   THE    KING   COMES   TO   CLAIM   HIS  OWN. 

THE  party  of  prisoners  was  conducted  by 
"  His  Majesty  "  to  that  upper  room  which 
had  formerly  been  occupied  by  the  ladies. 
Mrs.  Russell  clung  to  the  royal  person  as 
fondly  as  ever.  It  was  a  critical  hour  in 
the  destinies  of  Spain. 

"Where's  Rita,"  cried  "His  Majesty," 
"  that  cook  of  cooks  ?  It's  starvin'  we  are. 
I  haven't  seen  her  anywheres.  I'll  go  an' 
hunt  her  up." 

With  these  words  he  hurried  out,  follow 
ed  by  Mrs.  Russell.  They  descended  the 
stairs,  and  their  footsteps  died  away  in  the 
distance.  No  one  was  now  with  the  pris 
oners  except  the  wounded  Republicans. 

"  Let  us  fly  1"  said  Harry,  in  a  quick, 
sharp  whisper. 

He  hurried  Katie  to  the  chimney,  and, 
clambering  up,  drew  her  after  him.  The 
others  followed  at  once.  Dolores  came 
next  to  Harry. 

"  I  know  a  secret  way  out,"  said  she.  "  I 
will  show  the  way.  Let  me  go  ahead.  I 
know  it  in  the  dark." 

"  Do  you  ?"  said  Harry.  "  Oh,  then  go 
ahead." 

Upon  this  Dolores  took  the  lead  along 
with  Ashby ;  Harry  and  Katie  came  next, 
while  Brooke  and  Talbot  brought  up  the 
rear,  these  last  being  full  of  wonder  at  this 
unexpected  revelation  of  the  passage-way. 

By  this  time  each  member  of  the  party 
had  gained  a  full  and  complete  compre 
hension  as  well  as  appreciation  of  the  pres 
ent  state  of  things,  both  with  reference  to 
the  old  lover,  and  also  the  new  one.  Em 
barrassment  had  now  passed  away,  and  all 
were  full  of  hope,  joy,  and  enthusiasm. 

Suddenly  a  hollow  groan  sounded 
through  the  darkness. 

"  Who's  there  ?"  cried  Ashby,  in  Spanish. 

"  Help  !  help !"  said  a  faint  voice,  in  Eng 
lish. 

"An  Englishman!"  cried  Ash  by,  speak 
ing  in  English.  "  Who  are  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  help !  help  !  I'm  a  prisoner.  A 
fiend  has  me  in  her  power!  Once  I  was 
named  Russell,  but  now  —  oh!  oh!  my 
name  is  Rita!" 

Full  of  wonder,  Ashby  felt  his  way  for 
ward,  and  found  a  man  on  the  floor.  His 
legs  and  arms  were  tied.  He  was  almost 
speechless,  partly  from  terror  and  partly 
from  joy.  In  a  few  words  he  told  his 
story,  which  need  not  be  repeated  here. 


Rita  had  bound  him,  and  had  only  left  him 
a  short  time  before  at  the  sudden  noise 
of  their  approach.  It  was  not  until  after 
ward  that  they  understood  the  whole  sto 
ry,  for  just  then  they  were  in  too  great  a 
hurry  to  ask  questions.  A  pull  from  Ash- 
by's  brandy-flask  partly  restored  Russell's 
strength,  but  more  was  accomplished  by 
his  joy  at  this  unexpected  deliverance. 
Terror  also  came  to  his  aid  and  lent  him 
strength,  and  he  was  now  more  anxious 
than  any  of  them  to  fly  from  this  awful 
prison-house. 

Dolores  now  led  the  way  as  before,  and 
they  all  followed  down  long  steps  and 
crooked  passage-ways  until  at  last  they 
reached  the  outlet.  Here  they  found  them 
selves  in  the  chasm.  A  hasty  consultation 
ended  in  the  decision  not  to  go  to  the 
tower  for  fear  lest  Carlists  might  be  there. 
They  concluded,  therefore,  to  go  along  the 
chasm  for  some  distance,  and  then  ascend 
to  the  open  country  above,  and  after  this 
to  go  forward  as  far  as  possible  that  same 
night. 

They  traversed  the  chasm  in  this  wray, 
and  at  length  reached  the  top,  where  they 
found  themselves  to  be  about  a  mile  away 
from  the  castle.  Here  the  ground  sloped 
gently,  descending  into  a  broad  valley,  to 
which  they  decided  to  go.  In  this  direc 
tion  they  therefore  proceeded  as  carefully 
as  possible,  and  had  gone  about  two  miles 
in  safety  when  suddenly  they  became  aware 
of  a  great  noise,  like  the  quick  trot  of  nu 
merous  horses.  It  was  advancing  so  rap 
idly  that  they  had  no  time  to  take  meas 
ures  for  escape,  and  before  they  could  con 
sult  together  a  troop  of  horsemen  came 
over  a  rising  ground  in  front  and  galloped 
straight  toward  them. 

A  wild  look  all  around  showed  them  the 
hopelessness  of  their  situation.  The  coun 
try  was  open.  There  was  not  a  house  or  a 
fence  or  a  tree  or  a  bush  that  might  afford 
a  hiding-place.  Flight  was  useless.  They 
could  do  nothing  now  but  trust  to  the  faint 
hope  that  they  might  be  deemed  unworthy 
of  attention.  But  soon  this  hope  proved 
vain.  They  were  seen  —  they  were  sur 
rounded — they  were  again  prisoners. 

They  soon  learned  that  this  new  band 
consisted  of  Carlists;  that  they  were  on 
the  way  to  the  castle  to  join  the  King,  who 
had  gone  on  before. 

The  King ! 

Katie  knew  who  that  was.  Harry  wns 
puzzled,  as  he  always  had  been,  about 


n: 


"  THE    JOVIAL    MONARCH   CAUGHT   MRS.  RUSSELL'S   HAND    IN    HIS,  AND   PROCEEDED   TO   DANCE.' 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


179 


"His  Majesty."  Dolores  also  was  mysti 
fied,  since  she  had  never  believed  that 
•'His  Majesty"  was  what  he  pretended  to 
be.  Ash  by,  also,  had  not  believed  it,  and 
now  was  more  puzzled  than  any  of  them. 
Brooke  and  Talbot,  however,  were  stran 
gers  to  the  pretensions  of  that  singular  be 
ing  who  called  himself  King,  and  there 
fore  hoped  that  this  would  turn  out  for 
the  best.  As  for  Russell,  he  was  in  de 
spair,  for  to  him  "Plis  Majesty"  was  more 
dreaded  than  any  other  human  being,  with 
the  single  and  terrible  exception  of  Rita. 
And  now  he  felt  himself  dragged  back  to 
meet  him — worse,  to  meet  Rita.  Despair 
took  full  possession  of  him.  All  his  strength 
left  him,  and  one  of  the  troopers  had  to  give 
up  his  horse  to  the  world-worn  captive. 

It  was  with  such  feelings  as  these  that 
the  party  reached  the  castle,  and  were  led 
up-stairs  into  the  presence  of  the  King. 

The  first  glance  which  they  gave  around 
showed  them  that  there  had  been  a  slight 
mistake  somewhere. 

Down  below,  the  court-yard  and  the 
lower  hall  were  full  of  men.  Here  there 
were  twenty  or  thirty,  all  in  the  uniform 
of  officers ;  all  men  of  distinguished  air  and 
good-breeding ;  all  gentlemen,  and  far  dif 
ferent  from  the  ragged  gang  whom  they 
had  last  encountered  here. 

In  the  centre  of  this  company  stood  a 
man  who  at  once  attracted  to  himself  the 
eyes  of  the  party  of  prisoners.  He  was  of 
medium  size,  with  heavy  black  mustache 
and  dark,  penetrating  eyes.  He  had  the 
air  of  one  who  had  always  been  accustom 
ed  to  the  respectful  obedience  of  others ; 
an  air  of  command  which  rested  well  upon 
his  bold  and  resolute  face.  It  was  the  face 
of  one  who  lived  in  the  consciousness  that 
lie  was  the  centre  and  strength  and  hope 
of  a  gallant  party ;  of  one  who  believed 
himself  to  hold  a  divine  commission  to  re 
generate  a  fallen  country ;  of  one  who  knew 
that  he  alone  in  all  the  world  held  up  aloft 
at  the  head  of  an  army  the  proud  banner 
of  Conservatism  ;  of  one  who,  for  this  mis 
sion,  had  given  up  ease  and  luxury  and 
self-indulgence;  had  entered  upon  a  life 
of  danger,  hardship,  and  ceaseless  toil,  and 
every  day  lived  in  the  very  presence  of 
Death  ;  in  short,  they  saw  before  them  the 
idol  of  the  Spanish  Legitimists — the  high- 
souled,  the  chivalrous  Don  Carlos. 

The  quick,  penetrating  glance  which  he 
threw  upon  the  party  soon  faded  away  into 
a  pleasant  smile. 


"  "Welcome,  ladies !"  said  he  ;  "  welcome, 
gentlemen  !  Some  one  spoke  of  a  party  of 
prisoners ;  I  had  no  hope  of  such  good  fort 
une  as  to  meet  with  guests.  But  you  must 
have  met  with  some  misfortune,  in  which 
case  let  me  help  you." 

He  spoke  in  Spanish,  of  course — a  lan 
guage  which  is  usually  spoken  in  Spain ; 
and  a  very  pretty  language  it  is,  too,  and 
one  which  I  should  advise  all  my  readers 
to  learn ;  for  they  would  find  it  uncommon 
ly  useful  in  case  they  should  ever  find 
themselves  in  a  castle  in  Spain. 

It  was  Harry  who  replied.  He  told  the 
whole  story  as  far  as  it  was  known  to  him 
self,  dwelling  especially  upon  the  character 
and  actions  of  that  strange  being  who  had 
played  the  role  of  monarch.  Harry's  light 
and  playful  nature  threw  a  tinge  of  com 
icality  around  the  whole  story,  which  was 
highly  appreciated  by  all  his  hearers.  And 
so  it  was  that  a  smile  began  to  go  round, 
until  at  length  it  deepened  and  developed 
into  laughter,  and  so  went  on  deepening 
and  broadening  and  intensifying,  until  at 
last  the  laughter  grew,  if  not  Homeric,  at 
least  loud  enough  and  long  enough  for  a 
castle  in  Spain. 

"  It's  the  Irishman  !"  cried  Don  Carlos — 
"  it's  the  Irish  guerilla  !  It's  O'Toole  !  The 
villain  !  he  shall  hang  for  this  !" 

Harry  was  too  good-natured  to  feel  re 
vengeful,  and  was  just  beginning  to  beg  for 
O'Toole's  life,  when  suddenly  there  arose 
behind  them  the  sound  of  hurried  foot 
steps,  followed  by  wild  cries.  All  turned, 
and  a  strange  figure  met  their  eyes. 

It  was  a  woman.  She  wore  a  military 
cloak  and  an  officer's  kepi.  She  looked 
wildly  around. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  Where  is  my  own  one?" 
she  cried — "  '  His  Majesty  ?'  Where  is  the 
hope  of  Spain  ?" 

Russell  saw  her. 

He  threw  out  wide  his  manly  arms  —  he 
opened  his  mouth :  "  Jew — li — a-r-r-r-r-r-r!" 

With  a  long,  loud  cry  he  shouted  this 
name,  and  rushed  toward  her. 

Mrs.  Russell  saw  him  coming — her  lost, 
lamented  lord !  the  one  whom  she  had 
mourned  as  dead  !  Was  this  his  ghost  ? 
or  was  he  indeed  alive  ?  In  any  case, 
the  shock  was  awful  for  a  woman  of  del 
icate  nerves;  and  Mrs.  Russell  prided  her 
self  on  being  a  woman  of  very  delicate 
nerves. 

So  she  did  what  a  woman  of  delicate 
nerves  ought  to  do — she  gave  a  loud,  long, 


160 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


piercing  shriek,  and  fainted  dead  away  in 
her  fond  husband's  arms. 

Don  Carlos  gave  a  grin,  and  then  pulled 
at  his  mustache. 

"Another  victim,"  said  he  to  the  laugh 
ing  company.  "Oh  yes;  O'Toole  shall 
certainly  swing  for  this.  Discipline  must 
and  shall  be  maintained.  Send  out  and 
catch  the  fellow.  Have  him  up  here  at 
once." 

They  sent  out  and  they  hunted  every 
where,  but  nowhere  could  they  discover 
any  traces  of  the  brilliant,  the  festive,  the 
imaginative,  the  mimetic,  the  ingenious 
O'Toole.  He  was  never  seen  again. 

Some  say  that  in  the  dead  of  night  two 
figures  might  have  been  seen  slowly  wend 
ing  their  way  up  the  path  toward  the  tow 
er;  that  the  one  looked  like  OToole  and 
the  other  looked  like  Rita.  It  may  have 
been  so ;  many  things  are  possible  in  this 
evil  world ;  and  if  so,  we  must  suppose 
that  these  two  gradually  faded  away  among 
the  mists  of  cloud-land  that  always  sur 
round  a  castle  in  Spain. 


CHAPTER  LXL 

IN   WHICH    THERE    IS   AN   END   OF   MY   STORY. 

THE  illustrious  host  received  his  guests 
with  large  and  lavish  hospitality.  The 
best  that  could  be  afforded  by  a  bounteous 
commissariat  was  placed  before  them.  The 
table  was  laid,  the  banquet  wtis  spread,  and 
all  the  company  sat  down  together. 

At  the  head  of  the  table  was  Don  Carlos. 

On  his  right  was  Talbot,  with  Brooke 
beside  her. 

On  his  left  was  Katie,  with  Harry  beside 
her. 

Next  to  Harry  was  Dolores,  with  Ashby 
beside  her. 

Next  to  Brooke  was  a  priest  in  somewhat 
martial  attire,  whom  Don  Carlos  introduced 
to  them  as— The  Cure  of  Santa  Cruz! 

He  was  a  broad-shouldered,  middle-aged 
man,  with  strongly  marked  features,  eagle 
eye,  and  bold  and  resolute  face.  This  was 
the  very  man  whom  Brooke  had  once  per 
sonated  ;  but  Brooke  was  just  now  silent 
about  that  particular  matter,  nor  did  he 
care  to  mention  to  any  of  his  Spanish 
friends  the  fact  that  he  was  an  American, 
and  a  newspaper  correspondent.  In  spite 
of  the  passports  and  credentials  with  which 
his  wallet  was  stuffed  and  with  which  his 


pockets  bristled,  he  had  not  been  recog 
nized  by  any  one  present ;  a  fact  that  seems 
to  show  that  those  papers  had  been  ob 
tained  from  some  of  the  inferior  officers  of 
Don  Carlos,  or  perhaps  from  some  other 
correspondent  who  had  fallen  in  the  prac 
tice  of  his  professional  duties. 

The  Cure"  of  Santa  Cruz  said  grace,  and 
the  banquet  began. 

Don  Carlos  was  a  man  of  joyous  soul 
and  large,  exuberant  spirit,  with  a  gener 
ous,  romantic,  and  heroic  nature.  He  also 
knew  how  to  lay  aside,  on  occasion,  all  the 
cares  of  his  position ;  so  now  he  was  no 
longer  the  commander  of  a  gallant  army, 
the  banner-bearer  of  a  great  cause,  the 
claimant  of  a  throne.  On  the  contrary,  he 
was  the  simple  gentleman  among  other 
gentlemen — primus  inter  pares — the  hospi 
table  host,  chiefly  intent  upon 'performing 
the  pleasing  duties  of  that  office. 

He  had  also  showed  such  an  amiable  in 
terest  in  the  adventures  of  his  guests  that 
they  had  frankly  told  him  all  that  was  of 
any  interest.  Harry  had  a  more  confiding 
disposition  than  the  others,  and  after  the 
ladies  had  retired  he  disclosed  more  and 
more  of  their  affairs,  until  at  last  their  gal 
lant  host  had  obtained  a  very  clear  idea  of 
the  sentimental  side  of  the  story. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Don  Carlos  at  length, 
"to-morrow  we  shall  resume  our  march, 
and  I  shall  be  happy  to  do  for  you  all  in 
my  power.  I  shall  be  sorry  to  part  with 
you,  yet  glad  to  restore  you  to  your  liberty. 
A  company  will  take  you  to  the  nearest 
railway  station,  from  which  you  can  pro 
ceed  to  your  respective  destinations.  But 
before  you  go  allow  me  to  offer  you  a  sug 
gestion  which  I  am  sure  you  will  not  take 
amiss. 

"  You,  gentlemen,  are  looking  forward 
to  the  time  when  these  lovely  and  amiable 
ladies  shall  sustain  the  closest  possible  re 
lation  toward  you.  You  will  pardon  me, 
I  trust,  if  I  hint  just  now  that  their  posi 
tion  is  a  very  embarrassing  one,  travelling 
as  they  are  without  proper  chaperonage. 
In  Spanish  eyes  that  is  a  calamity.  Now, 
the  suggestion  that  I  was  about  to  make  is 
this,  namely,  that  you  should  free  these  la 
dies  from  this  embarrassment  by  persuad 
ing  them  to  accept  you  now  as  their  legal 
protectors.  Surely  nothing  can  be  more 
desirable  on  all  sides.  No  place  can  be 
more  fitting  than  this ;  no  hour  more  con 
venient  ;  no  scene  more  romantic.  As  for 
the  priest,  here  sits  my  reverend  friend  the 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


181 


Cure  of  Santa  Cruz — a  warrior-priest,  an 
eccentric  character,  yet  a  brave  and  noble 
soul ;  and  he,  let  ine  assure  you,  can  tie  the 
knot  so  tight  that  it  could  not  be  made 
tighter  even  by  the  Holy  Father  himself, 
assisted  by  the  Patriarch  of  Constantinople 
and  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury." 

This  suggestion  came  as  sudden  as  thun 
der  from  a  clear  sky;  yet  after  the  first 
shock  it  was  considered  by  all  present,  and 
especially  by  those  most  concerned,  as — 
first,  ingenious;  then,  happy;  then,  most 
excellent;  and,  finally,  glorious.  When 
this  unparalleled  and  matchless  royal 
speech  was  ended  the  whole  company  burst 
forth  into  rapturous  applause. 

Ashby  and  Harry,  in  wild  excitement, 
forgot  everything  but  their  old  friendship 
and  their  latest  love.  They  grasped  one 
another's  hands  with  all  their  olden  fer 
vor. 

"  Hurrah,  old  fellow  !"  cried  Harry. 

"Glorious!  isn't  it,  old  boy?"  cried 
Ashby. 

"  I'll  do  it ;  won't  you  ?"  cried  Harry. 

"  I  will,  by  Jove  !"  cried  Ashby. 

And  thus  that  quarrel  was  settled. 

Brooke  said  nothing,  but  his  eyes  grew 
moist  in  his  deep  joy,  and  he  muttered  and 
hummed  all  to  himself  the  words  of  some 
strange  old  song  which  had  no  connection 
with  anything  at  all.  For  this  was  his 
fashion,  the  odd  old  boy !  whenever  his 
feelings  were  deeply  stirred,  and  he  fell 
into  that  fashion  now  :  > 

"  I  never  knew  real  happiness 
Till  I  became  a  Methodess ; 
.  So  come,  my  love,  and  jine  with  me, 
For  here's  a  parson  '11  marry  \ve. 
Come  for'ad  and  jine, 
Come  for'ad  and  jine, 
This  night  come  for'ad  and  jine. 
A-A-A-A-A-men !" 

During  the  banquet  and  the  subsequent 
proceedings  the  virtuous  Russell  had  been 
silent  and  distrait.  Though  restored  to 
the  arms  of  the  best  of  wives,  still  he  was 
not  happy.  There  was  yet  something  want 
ing.  And  what  was  that?  Need  I  say 
that  it  was  the  lost  package  with  the  pre 
cious  bonds  ?  Ah  no,  for  every  one  will 
surely  divine  the  feelings  and  thoughts  of 
this  sorrowful  man. 

And  he  in  his  abstraction  had  been  try 
ing  to  think  what  could  be  done ;  for  the 
bonds  were  lost  to  him :  they  were  not  in 
the  place  where  he  had  concealed  them. 
What  that  place  really  was  he  now  knew 
only  too  well.  Had  that  fiend  Rita  found 


them  ?  Perhaps  so — yet  perhaps  not.  On 
the  whole,  as  a  last  resort,  he  concluded 
that  it  would  be  best  to  appeal  to  Don  Car 
los.  His  face  indicated  goodness,  and  his 
whole  treatment  of  the  party  invited  con 
fidence  ;  there  surely  he  might  meet  with 
sympathy,  and  if  the  package  had  been 
found  by  any  of  the  Carlists  it  might  be 
restored. 

And  so,  as  the  uproar  subsided,  Russell 
arose,  and  walking  toward  Don  Carlos, 
suddenly,  and  to  the  amazement  and  amuse 
ment  of  all  present,  flung  himself  on  his 
knees,  crying, 

"  A  boon  !  a  boon,  my  liege  !" 

These  preposterous  words  had  lingered 
in  his  memory  from  some  absurd  reading 
of  his  boyhood. 

Don  Carlos  smiled.  "What  does  he 
say  ?"  he  asked. 

Harry  came  forward  to  act  as  interpreter. 

Russell  now  told  all.  Harry  knew  in 
part  the  fortunes  of  the  bonds  after  they 
had  left  Russell's  hands;  but  then  they  had 
again  been  lost,  so  that  he  could  not  tell 
what  had  finally  become  of  them.  Of  his 
own  part  in  finding  them,  and  then  con 
cealing  them  again,  he  thought  best  to  say 
nothing. 

Ashby,  however,  had  something  to  say 
which  was  very  much  to  the  purpose.  It 
seems  that  Dolores  had  found  the  bonds, 
had  kept  them,  and  had  finally  handed 
them  over  to  Ashby  for  safe-keeping.  He 
at  once  concluded  that  they  were  Katie's, 
and  was  waiting  for  a  convenient  opportu 
nity  to  restore  them.  The  opportunity  had 
now  come.  This  was  his  simple  story,  but 
as  it  was  told  to  Don  Carlos  in  Spanish, 
Russell  did  not  understand  one  word. 

"  Where  are  they  now  ?"  asked  Don 
Carlos. 

"  Here,"  said  Ashby,  and  he  produced 
the  package  from  his  coat-pocket. 

"Give  them  to  me,"  said  Don  Carlos. 
"I  will  arrange  it  all.  Do  you  know,  gen 
tlemen,  this  is  the  happiest  moment  of  my 
life.  I  seem  like  a  kind  of  Dcus  ex  machina 
coming  in  at  the  right  time  at  the  end  of 
a  series  of  adventures  to  produce  universal 
peace  and  harmony." 

"I  hope  and  trust,"  said  Ashby,  "that 
'Your  Majesty'  may  be  the  Deus  ex  machina 
for  all  Spain,  and  interpose  at  last  to  pro 
duce  universal  peace  and  harmony  here." 

"  Seiior,"  said  Don  Carlos,  "  you  talk  like 
a  born  courtier ;  yet  at  the  same  time,"  he 
added,  in  a  solemn  tone,  "  what  you  have 


182 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


just  said  is  the  high  hope  and  aspiration 
of  my  life." 

After  this  creditable  little  speech  Ashby 
handed  over  the  package,  and  Don  Carlos 
took  it.  At  this  sight  the  lower  jaw  of  the 
venerable  Russell  fell  several  inches.  This 
Don  Carlos  seemed  to  him  not  one  whit 
better  than  the  other.  The  bonds  were 
now  lost  to  him  forever.  That  was  plain 
enough.  Yet  he  dared  not  say  a  word. 
After  all,  they  were  not  his,  but  Katie's. 
Harry  knew  that,  and  Ashby  also.  What 
could  he  say?  He  was  dumb,  and  so  he 
crawled  back,  discomfited  and  despairing, 
to  his  seat. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Don  Carlos,  "  you  must 
use  your  utmost  efforts  with  the  ladies. 
Everything  shall  be  done  that  can  be  most 
fitting  to  the  occasion.  We  shall  have 
music  and  festivities.  It  is  not  often  that 
I  have  adventures  like  these.  Let  the  old 
castle  renew  its  youth.  Let  these  walls 
ring  to  music  and  song.  Don't  let  the 
ladies  escape  you,  gentlemen.  If  anything 
is  wanting  to  your  persuasions,  tell  them — 
as  that  rascal  O'Toole,  my  double,  would 
say — tell  them  that  it  is  '  our  royal  will.'  " 

Another  burst  of  applause,  mingled  with 
laughter,  followed,  after  which  Harry,  Ash- 
by,  and  Brooke  hurried  off  to  see  the  la 
dies. 

What  passed  between  the  different  cou 
ples  on  that  memorable  occasion,  what  ob 
jections  were  made,  on  the  one  hand,  by 
shrinking  modesty,  and  what  arguments 
and  entreaties  were  put  forth,  on  the  oth 
er  hand,  by  the  ardent  lovers,  need  not  be 
narrated  here.  Whether  it  was  meek  com 
pliance  with  a  loved  one's  wish,  or  dread 
of  Spanish  etiquette,  or  respect  for  the 
"  royal  will,"  or  whatever  else  it  may  have 
been,  suffice  it  to  say  that  at  last  the  de 
lighted  swains  won  a  consent  from  the 
blushing  maidens ;  after  which  they  rushed 
forth  in  wild  rapture  to  spend  the  remain 
der  of  the  night  in  prolonged  festivities 
with  their  gallant  host  and  his  festive 
band  of  cavaliers. 

There  was  one,  however,  who  took  no 
part  in  all  this.  Excusing  himself  from  the 
festive  board  on  the  plea  of  ill  health,  he 
held  aloof,  a  prey  to  dark  and  gloomy  sus 
picions.  These  he  communicated  to  Har 
ry  before  the  "  evening  session  "  began.  It 
seemed  that  the  much  afHicted  Russell,  be 
lieving  the  true  Don  Carlos  to  be  no  better 
than  the  false  one,  held  the  firm  conviction 
that  the  bonds  had  been  appropriated  by 


him  for  his  own  purposes,  and  that  their 
proceeds  would  be  squandered  on  the  ex 
travagant  schemes  of  the  hopeless  Carlist 
insurrection.  But  Harry  scouted  the  idea. 
"  Keep  them  ?  He  keep  them  ?"  he  cried. 
"  Never !  Don  Carlos  is  a  gentleman." 

At  this  Russell  groaned  and  turned 
away. 

Meanwhile  the  preparations  for  the  com 
ing  event  were  diligently  carried  on.  Be 
fore  morning  the  ancient  chapel  of  the 
hoary  castle  was  decked  out  with  ever 
greens  brought  from  the  neighboring  for 
est,  and  everything  was  made  ready  for  the 
marriage-feast. 

Morning  came.  All  gathered  in  the 
chapel,  which  in  its  robe  of  evergreens 
looked  like  a  bower. 

The  three  buglers  and  one  drummer  be 
longing  to  the  troop  played  in  magnifi 
cent  strains  the  stirring  notes  of  the  "  Wed 
ding  March." 

The  Cure"  of  Santa  Cruz  presented  an 
unexceptionable  appearance  in  his  eccle 
siastical  robes. 

There,  too,  was  the  man  who  claimed  to 
be  the  rightful  King  of  Spain,  surrounded 
by  men  who  represented  some  of  the  no 
blest  families  of  the  nation — an  illustrious 
company,  the  like  of  which  none  of  the 
principals  in  this  ceremony  had  ever  dream 
ed  of  as  likely  to  be  present  at  his  wed 
ding. 

The  bridegrooms  came,  looking,  it  must 
be  confessed,  slightly  seedy. 

Then  came  the  brides,  resplendent  in 
their  best  attire,  procured  from  the  lug 
gage  which  had  been  brought  here  at  the 
time  of  their  capture  by  O'Toole. 

There  were  no  bride'smaids.  But  Mrs. 
Russell  was  present,  leaning  on  the  arm  of 
her  beloved  husband,  all  in  tears.  And 
why?  Was  it  from  regrets  for  the  lost 
crown  of  Spain  ?  or  was  it  merely  from  the 
tender  sentiment  which  is  usually  called 
forth  on  such  an  occasion  ?  or  was  it  from 
the  thought  of  that  one  whose  fortunes  she 
had  followed  for  many  eventful  hours  with 
a  view  to  such  a  conclusion  as  this  ? 

No  matter. 

Reader,  let  us  draw  a  veil  over  the  emo 
tions  of  this  afflicted  lady. 

The  marriages  went  on.  The  knots  were 
all  tied. 

Then  came  the  wedding  breakfast. 

Don  Carlos  was  in  his  best  mood.  He 
jested,  he  laughed,  he  paid  innumerable 
compliments  to  the  ladies,  and  finally  gave 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


183 


the  whole  party  an  invitation  to  visit  him 
on  some  future  day  at  his  royal  court  in 
Madrid.  Which  invitation,  it  may  be  stated 
parenthetically,  has  not  yet  been  accepted. 

After  this  little  speech  Don  Carlos  hand 
ed  over  to  Harry  the  Spanish  bonds. 

"I  understand,"  said  he,  "  that  your  lady 
will  soon  be  of  age,  but,  under  any  circum 
stances,  according  to  Spanish  law  the  hus 
band  is  entitled  to  receive  all  the  property 
of  his  wife.  Take  this,  therefore,  and  you 
will  thus  relieve  our  aged  friend  yonder, 
the  venerable  Senor  Russell,  from  all  fur 
ther  responsibility  as  guardian." 

Harry  took  it,  and  could  not  help  casting 
a  triumphant  glance  at  Russell,  but  that 
good  man  looked  away.  He  afterward 
told  his  wife  that  he  had  lost  all  faith  in 
Providence,  and  felt  but  little  desire  to  live 


any  longer  in  such  an  evil  world.  Since 
the  bonds  were  lost  to  him  it  mattered  not 
who  gained  them — whether  Bourbon,  ban 
dit,  or  bridegroom. 

At  length  the  hour  of  their  departure 
came.  The  luggage  was  heaped  up  in  a 
huge  wragon.  Another  wagon  was  ready 
to  take  the  ladies,  and  horses  were  pre 
pared  for  the  gentlemen.  With  these  a 
troop  of  horsemen  was  sent  as  a  guard. 

As  they  passed  out  through  the  gates 
Don  Carlos  stood  and  bade  them  all  fere- 
well. 

So  they  passed  forth  on  their  way  to  lib 
erty,  and  home,  and  happiness;  and  so  they 
moved  along,  until  at  length  the  Castle, 
with  its  hoary  walls,  its  lofty  towers,  its 
weather-beaten  turrets  and  battlements,  was 
lost  in  the  distance. 


THE  END. 


IIILlllIT  HID  SUCCESSFUL  MEIIUI  IOHLS 

EECENTLT  PUBLISHED  BY 

HAKPER  &  BBOTHERS,  FEANKLIN  SQUAEE,  N,  Y, 


i. 

ANNE.  A  Novel.  By  CONSTANCE  F. 
WOOLSON.  Illustrated  by  C.  S.  REIN- 
HART.  16mo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 

The  publication  of  a  book  like  Miss  Woolsou's 
"Anne  "  is  really  a  literary  event. — Dial,  Chicago. 

It  proves  Hie  author's  right  to  stand  without 
question  at  the  head  of  American  women  novelists. 
— N.  Y.  Tribune. 

Clearly  a  work  of  genius.— Boston  Traveller. 


II. 

FOR  THE  MAJOR.  A  Novelette.  By 
CONSTANCE  F.  WOOLSON.  Illustrated. 
16iiio,  Cloth,  $1  00. 

Not  a  single  sentence  could  be  erased  from  it  with 
out  loss.  She  gives  us  the  village,  the  whole  village, 
and  nothing  but  the  village ;  yet  she  has  the  rare  gift 
of  knowing,  in  treating  of  an  eccentricity  or  an  ab 
surdity,  when  to  drop  the  subject.  *  *' *  We  do  not 
hesitate  to  pronounce  the  book — though  much  small 
er  and  less  ambitious  in  its  scope— superior  even  to 
"  Anne."— The  Critic,  N.  Y. 

A  story  so  sweet  and  Dimple  that  it  suggests  an  old- 
fashioned  plaintive  ballad.  She  has  chosen  the  most 
picturesque  materials  that  America  affords. — N.  Y. 
World. 

III. 

BEN-HUR.  A  Tale  of  the  Christ.  By 
LEW.  WALLACE.  18mo,  Cloth,  §1  50. 

Has  given  us  as  much  soul-stirring  entertainment 
as  any  of  our  great  George  Eliot's  works,  or  Hugo's 
or  Scott's. — Religious  Herald,  Hartford. 

We  are  carried  through  a  surprising  variety  of 
eceues;  we  witness  a  sea-fight,  a  chariot-race,  the  in 
ternal  economy  of  a  Roman  galley,  domestic  interiors 
at  Antioch,  at  Jerusalem,  and  among  the  tribes  of  the 
desert ;  palaces,  prisons,  the  haunts  of  dissipated  Ro 
man  youth,  the  houses  of  pious  families  of  Israel. 
There  is  plenty  of  exciting  incident;  everything  is 
animated,  vivid,  and  glowing. — S.  Y.  Tribune. 


IV. 

WASHINGTON  SQUARE.  By  HENRY 
JAMES,  Jr.  Illustrated  by  GEORGE  Du 
MAURIER.  IGmo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 

A  delightful  piece  of  analysis,  to  be  ranked  with  the 
best  works  that  Mr.  James  has  done.— Evening  Trav 
eller,  Boston. 

The  characters  are  drawn  with  provoking  fidelity 
and  consistency,  every  page  seeming  a  record  o'f 
events  which  have  transpired  in  the  next  block  to  the 
one  in  which  the  reader  is  perusing  the  trials  and 

obstinacy  of  Mr.  Sloper  and  his  daughter Boston 

Courier. 

The  best  he  has  yet  produced.— Baltimore  Gazette. 

Its  characters  are  studied  and  portrayed  carefully 
and  with  much  of  his  wonted  adroitness. — Congrega- 
tionaiist,  Boston. 


V. 

A  TRANSPLANTED  ROSE.  A  Story 
of  New  York  Society.  By  Mrs.  JOHN 
SHERWOOD.  16mo,  Cloth,  $1  00. 

The  story  is  cleverly  told,  and  gives  a  picture  of 
metropolitan  society  which  is  realistic  in  the  extreme. 
The  author  writes  from  an  intimate  knowledge,  and, 
as  she  has  the  gifts  of  wit  and  humor,  portrays  her 
characters  in  graphic  sketches.  A  piquant  undertone 

of  satire  serves  rather  to  gratify  the  reader Boston 

Traveller. 

It  is  most  interesting.  It  has  hnmor,  pathos,  and 
dramatic  situations.  All  through  it  are  fine  descrip 
tions,  bright  reflections,  and  wise  suggestions.— Bos 
ton  Globe. 

One  soon  reaches  the  conclusion  that  its  author  is 
a  lady  who  is  thoroughly  familiar  with  the  world  of 
which  she  writes.  The  tone  of  the  book  is  fresh, 
breezy,  healthy.  It  is  so  frank  and  natural  through 
out  that  it  does  one  good  to  come  into  contact  with 
the  characters  who  figure  in  its  pages.— Utica  Her 
ald. 

VI. 

HELEN  TROY.  By  Mrs.  BURTON  N. 
HARRISON,  Author  of  "  Golden  Rod,"  "  A 
Russian  Honeymoon,"  &c.  ICmo,  Cloth, 

$1  00. 

Will  bring  the  author  still  greater  popularity,  and 
will  give  her  an  honorable  place  among  American 
novelists.  Her  style  is  crisp  and  entertaining;  the 
incidents  of  the  story  are  fresh,  and  move  forward 
without  halting,  and  the  plot,  although  not  a  difficult 
one,  is  skilfully  constructed.  All  of  the  characters  in 
the  book  stand  out  in  their  individuality,  and  are 
vividly  drawn,  with  sufficient  variety  and  contrast 
to  make  them  attractive.— Providence  Press. 

This  is  a  graphically  written  story,  by  a  pen  that 
excels  in  character  portraiture.  The  chapters  are 
crisp,  breezy,  and  natural. — San  Francisco  Post. 

It  is  a  love  story  of  fashionable  life,  told  with  deli 
cate  taste,  or  perhaps  it  is  better  to  say  with  refined 
sensibility,  and  is  full  of  all  manner  of  nimble  touch 
es.—  Pittsburgh  Telegraph. 

VII. 

PRUDENCE.  A  Story  of  ^Esthetic  Lon 
don.  By  LUCY  C.  LILLIE.  Illustrated 
by  GEORGE  Du  MAURIER.  16mo,  Cloth, 
90  cents. 

/Esthetic  ]ife  in  London,  in  some  of  its  many  phase?, 
finds  a  delightful  interpretation  in  Mrs.  Lillie's  charm 
ing  romance.  *  *  *  There  are  many  other  things  to 
commend  "Prudence"  besides  its  merit  as  a  story. 
It  is  written  in  an  unassuming  style  that  is  specially 
attractive,  its  character-portraits  are  vividly  outlined 
and  logically  analyzed,  its  descriptions  of  London  so 
ciety  are  artistically  touched,  a  delicate  element  of 
satire  mingling  with  the  sestheticism,  while  the  whole 
work  is  pervaded  by  an  atmosphere  of  freshness  and 
purity  that  is  delightful  in  its  influence.— Providence 
Journal. 

It  abounds  in  striking  characterizations  and  life- 
life  reproductions  of  the  aesthetic  craze  as  applied  to 
persons  and  things,  and  will  be  found  suggestive  and 
entertaining. — Boston  Commonwealth. 


C37"  HARPKF.  &  BUOTUERS  will  send  any  of  the  above  works  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the 
United  States,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


WILLIAM  BLACK'S  NOVELS. 

Mr.  Black's  novels  are  always  clever. — Spectator,  London. 

His  success,  which  is  undoubtedly  great,  is  due  to  a  careful  study  and  competent  knowledge  of  character, 
to  a  style  which  is  free  from  blemish,  and  to  a  power  of  graphic  descriptiou  which  is  but  very  seldom  met 
with. — Saturday  Revieio,  London. 

Mr.  Black  knows  so  well  just  what  to  describe,  and  to  what  length,  that  the  scenery  of  his  novels — by  com 
parison  with  that  of  many  we  are  obliged  to  read— seems  to  have  been  freshened  by  soft  spring  rains.  Ilia 
painting  of  character,  his  conversations  and  situations,  are  never  strongly  dramatic  and  exciting,  but  they 
are  thoroughly  good.  He  never  gives  us  a  tame  or  a  tiresome  chapter,  and  this  is  something  for  which  all 
readers  will  be  profoundly  grateful.— A\  1".  Tribune. 

Mr.  Black's  novels  present  vivid  pictures  of  the  life  and  thought  of  the  age,  which  they  will  preserve  for 
future  times,  as  earlier  great  masters  of  fiction  have  preserved  for  our  time  the  thoughts  and  sentiments  of 
periods  long  since  passed  away.  Novels  are  most  useful  in  the  preservation  of  much  that  is  valuable,  but 
which  historians  rarely  condescend  to  notice.  Mr.  Black  is  doing  for  these  times  what  Thackeray  and  Dick 
ens,  Lytton  and  Beaconsfield,  did  for  an  earlier  contemporary  period  ;  and  what  Fielding  and  Smollett  did  for 
the  opening  years  of  the  Georgian  era,  now  almost  as  extinct  as  the  age  of  the  Autouines.—  Boston  Traveller. 


HARPER'S  POPULAR  EDITION  OF  WILLIAM  BLACK'S  NOVELS. 

Strange  Adventures  of  a  Phaeton, 

8vo,  Taper,  50  cents. 

Sunrise, 

4to,  Paper,  15  cents. 

That  Beautiful  Wretch, 

Illustrated.      4to,  Paper,  20  cents. 

The  Four  MacNicols, 


A  Daughter  of  Heth, 

8vo  Paper,  35  cents. 

A  Princess  of  Thule, 

8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 

An  Adventure  in  Thule, 

4to,  Paper,  10  cents. 


Green  Pastures  and  Piccadilly, 

8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 

In  Silk  Attire, 

8vo,  Paper,  35  cents. 

Kilmeny, 

8vo,  Paper,  35  cents. 

Macleod  of  Dare, 

8vo,  Paper,  Ill'd,  GO  cts. ;  4to,  Paper,  15  cts. 

Madcap  Violet, 

8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 

Shandon  Bells, 

Illustrated.      4to,  Paper,  20  cents. 


IGmo,  Cloth,  Illustrated,  $1  00. 

The  Maid  of  Killeena, 

The  Marriage  of  Moira  Fergus,  and  Other 
Stories.     8vo,  Paper,  40  cents. 

The  Monarch  of  Mincing-Lane, 

Illustrated.     8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 

Three  Feathers, 

Illustrated.     8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 

White  Wings. 

4to,  Paper,  20  cents. 

Yolande, 

Illustrated.     4to,  Paper,  20  cents. 


HARPER'S   LIBRARY  EDITION  OF  WILLIAM  BLACK'S  NOVELS. 

12mo,  Cloth,  $1  50  per  vol.  ;  $1G  25  per  set  of  14  vols. 


A  Daughter  of  Heth, 

A  Princess  of  Thule, 

Green  Pastures  and  Piccadilly, 

In  Silk  Attire, 

Kilineny, 

Macleod  of  Dare,    Illustrated, 

Madcap  Violet, 


Shandon  Bells,    Illustrated, 

Strange  Adventures  of  a  Phaeton, 

Sunrise, 

That  Beautiful  Wretch,  Ill'd, 

Three  Feathers, 

White  Wings,    Illustrated, 

Yolande,    Illustrated, 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

HAEPER  &  BROTHERS  will  send  any  of  the.  above  works  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the 
United  State-?,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


ANTHONY  TKOLEOPE'S  WORKS, 

His  stories  improve  with  time  instead  of  growing  weaker,  and  each  is  as  finished  and  as  forcible  as 
though  it  were  the  sole  production  of  the  author. — N.  Y.  Sun. 

Trollope  paints  people  and  things  exactly  as  he  finds  them,  with  remorseless  adhesion  to  truth.—  N.Y. 
Herald. 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.     4to,  Paper,  20 
cents. 

AN  EYE  FOR  AN  EYE.    4to,  Paper,  10 
cents. 

AY  ALA'S  ANGEL.    4to,  Paper,  20  cents. 

CAN    YOU    FORGIVE    HER?      Illus 
trated.     8vo,  Paper,  80  cents. 

CASTLE  RICHMOND.  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  50. 
COUSIN  HENRY.     4to,  Paper,  10  cents. 

DOCTOR  THORNE.     12mo,  Cloth,  $1  50; 
8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 

DOCTOR  WORTLE'S   SCHOOL.      4to, 
Paper,  15  cents. 

FRAMLEY  PARSONAGE.     4 to,  Paper, 
15  cents. 

HARRY  HEATHCOTE  OF  GANGOIL. 

Illustrated.     8vo,  Paper,  20  cents. 

HE   KNEW  HE  WAS  RIGHT.     Illus 
trated.     8vo,  Paper,  80  cents. 

IS  HE  POPENJOY  ?     4to,  Paper,  20  cts. 
JOHN  CALDIGATE.     4to,  Paper,  15  cts. 

KEPT  IN  THE  DARK,  and  other  Sto 
ries.     4to,  Paper,  15  cents. 

LADY  ANNA.     8vo,  Paper,  30  cents. 
MARION  FAY.    Ill'd.    4to,  Paper,  20  cts. 
MISS  MACKENZIE.     8vo,  Paper,  35  cts. 

MR.  SCARBOROUGH'S  FAMILY.    4to, 
Paper,  20  cents. 

NORTH  AMERICA.     12mo,  Cloth,  $1  50. 

ORLEY  FARM.    Illustrated.    8vo,  Paper, 
80  cents. 

PHINEAS  FINN,  THE   IRISH    MEM 
BER.     Illustrated.     8vo,  Paper,  75  cts. 

PHINEAS  REDUX.      Illustrated.      8vo, 
Paper,  75  cents. 

RACHAEL  RAY.     8vo,  Paper,  35  cents. 

RALPH  THE  HEIR.     Illustrated.     8vo, 
Paper,  75  cents. 

SIR  HARRY  HOTSPUR  OF  HUMBLE- 


THWAITE. 

35  cents. 


THE    AMERICAN    SENATOR. 

Paper,  50  cents. 


Illustrated.    8vo,  Paper, 
8vo, 


THACKERAY. 


THE  BELTON  ESTATE. 

cents. 


12mo,  Cloth,  75  cents. 

8vo;  Paper,  35 


THE  BERTRAMS. 


4to,  Paper,  15  cents. 
Illustrated.     8vo, 


THE  CLAVERINGS. 

Paper,  50  cents. 

THE  DUKE'S  CHILDREN.  4to,  Paper, 
20  cents. 

THE  EUSTACE  DIAMONDS.  I1M. 
8vo,  Cloth,  $1  30  ;  Paper,  80  cents. 

THE  FIXED  PERIOD.  4to,  Paper,  15 
cents. 

THE  GOLDEN  LION  OF  GRANPERE. 

Illustrated.     8vo,  Cloth,  90  cents ;  Pa 
per,  40  cents. 

THE  LADY  OF  LAUNAY.  32rno,  Pa 
per,  20  cents. 

THE  LAST  CHRONICLE  OF  BARSET. 

Illustrated.     8vo,  Paper,  90  cents. 

THE  LIFE  OF  CICERO.  In  Two  Vol 
umes.  12mo,  Cloth,  $3  00. 

THE  PRIME  MINISTER.  8vo,  Paper, 
60  cents. 

THE  SMALL  HOUSE  AT  ALLING- 
TON.  Illustrated.  8vo,  Paper,  75  cts. 

THE  STRUGGLES  OF  BROWN, 
JONES,  AND  ROBINSON.  8vo, 
Paper,  35  cents. 

THE   THREE    CLERKS.      12mo,  Cloth, 

$1  50. 

THE     VICAR     OF     BULLHAMPTON. 

Illustrated.     8vo,  Cloth,  $1  30;  Paper, 
80  cents. 

THE  WARDEN  and  BARCHESTER 
TOWERS.  Complete  in  One  Volume. 
8vo,  Paper,  60  cents. 

THE  WAY  WE  LIVE  NOW.  Illus 
trated.  8vo,  Paper,  90  cents. 

THOMPSON  HALL.  Illustrated.  32mo, 
Paper,  20  cents. 

WHY  FRAU  FROHMANN  RAISED 
HER  PRICES,  and  other  Stories. 
4to,  Paper,  10  cents. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

PF"  HARPEP.  &  BUOTIIEES  will  send  any  of  the  above  works  by  -mail,  postage  ^re^anf,  to  any  part  of  the 
United  States,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


WILKIE  COLLINS'S  NOVELS. 

Wilkie  Collins  has  no  living  superior  in  the  art  of  constructing  a  story.  Others  may  equal  if  not  surpass 
him  in  the  delineation  of  character,  or  in  the  use  of  a  story  for  the  development  of  social  theories,  or  for  the 
redress  of  a  wrong  against  humanity  and  civilization  ;  but  in  his  own  domain  he  stands  alone,  without  a  ri 
val.  *  *  *  He  holds  that  "  the  main  element  iu  the  attraction  of  all  stories  is  the  interest  of  curiosity  and  the 
excitement  of  surprise."  Other  writers  had  discovered  this  before  Collins  ;  but,  recognizing  the  clumsiness 
of  the  contrivances  in  use  by  inferior  authors,  he  essays,  by  artistic  and  conscientious  use  of  the  same  mate 
rials  and  similar  devices,  to  captivate  his  readers. — N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 

Of  all  the  living  writers  of  English  fiction,  no  one  better  understands  the  art  of  story-telling  than  Wilkie 
Collins.  He  has  a  faculty  of  coloring  the  mystery  of  a  plot,  exciting  terror,  pity,  curiosity,  and  other  pas 
sions,  such  as  belongs  to  few,  if  any,  of  his  confreres.  His  style,  too,  is  singularly  appropriate— less  forced 
and  artificial  than  the  average  modern  novelists.— -Bos ton  Transcript. 

We  cannot  call  to  mind  any  novelist  or  romancer  of  past  times  whose  constructive  powers  fairly  can  be 
placed  above  his.  He  is  a  literary  artist,  and  a  great  one  too,  and  he  always  takes  his  readers  with  him.— 
Boston  Traveller. 

Mr.  Collins  is  certainly  the  one  master  of  his  school  of  fiction,  and  the  greatest  constrnctionist  living.  His 
plots  are  marvels  of  ingenuity,  and  his  incidents  reach  the  height  of  the  dramatic. — N.  Y.  Evening  Mail. 

Mr.  Collins  possesses  the  art  of  fixing  his  reader's  attention  throughout  the  whole  of  a  narrative  of  intrigue, 
Bi  a  higher  degree,  perhaps,  than  any  other  English  novelist — Athenceum,  London. 

In  deep  and  marvellous  plot  he  is  perfect  master,  and  in  this  respect  stands  at  the  head  of  modern  novel 
ists. — Commercial  Bulletin,  Boston. 

That  Collins  is  without  an  equal  in  the  power  of  constructing  a  story  whose  close  it  will  defy  an  expert  to 
foretell,  which  will  please  by  its  surprises,  its  pure,  strong  diction,  and  its  dramatic  power,  has  long  been  un 
questioned.—  Utica  Herald. 


POPULAR   EDITION   OF   WILKIE   COLLINS'S   NOVELS. 


ANTONINA;  OR,  THE  PALL  OF 
ROME.  A  Romance  of  the  Fifth 
Century.  8vo,  Paper,  40  cciits. 


ARMADALE. 

60  cents. 


Illustrated.      8vo,  Paper, 
MAN  AND  "WIFE.     4 to,  Paper,  20  cents. 


MY  LADY'S  MONEY.     32mo,  Paper,  25 

cents. 

NO  NAME.      Illustrated  by  John  M'Le- 
nau.     8vo,  Paper,  60  cents. 

PERCY  AND  THE  PROPHET.     32mo, 
Paper,  20  cents. 


POOR  MISS  FINCH.  Illustrated.  8vo, 
Paper,  60  cents  j  Cloth,  $1  10. 

THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY.  Illus 
trated.  8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 

THE  MOONSTONE.  Illustrated.  8vo, 
Paper,  60  cents. 

THE  NEW  MAGDALEN.  8vo,  Paper, 
30  cents. 

THE  TWO  DESTINIES.  Illustrated. 
8vo,  Paper,  35  cents. 

THE  WOMAN  IN  WHITE.  Illustra 
ted  by  John  M'Lenan.  8vo,  Paper,  60 
cents. 


ILLUSTRATED  LIBRARY  EDITION  OF  WILKIE  COLLINS'S  NOYELS. 
12mo,  Cloth,  §1  25  per  vol.,  $18  00  per  set ;  Half  Calf,  $46  00  per  set. 


AFTER    DARK,   AND    OTHER    STO 
RIES. 

ANTONINA. 

ARMADALE. 

BASIL. 

HIDE  AND  SEEK. 

MAN  AND  WIFE. 

MY  MISCELLANIES. 

NO  NAME. 


POOR  MISS  FINCH. 
THE  DEAD  SECRET. 
THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 
THE  MOONSTONE. 
THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 
THE  QUEEN  OF  HEARTS. 
THE  TWO  DESTINIES. 
THE  WOMAN  IN  WHITE. 


PUBLISHED  BY  IIAEPEE  &  BKOTHEES,  NEW  YOEK. 

HABPEB  &  BKOTIIEES  will  send  any  of  the  above  works  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the 
United  States,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


CHARLES  READE'S  NOYELS. 

After  Dickens,  no  English  author  of  the  day  appeals  so  directly  to  all  branches  of  the  English-speaking 
race  as  Charles  Reade.  Although  most  of  his  works  are  intensely  English  in  local  coloring,  his  hatred  of 
class  injustice,  of  petty  social  spites  and  prejudices,  of  official  wrongs  and  abuses,  and  his  warm  sympathy 
with  all  the  fresh  and  true  impulses  and  instincts  of  humanity,  secure  for  his  works  appreciative  readers 
wherever  the  English  language  is  spoken.  Charles  Reade's  works  all  deserve  the  widest  circle  of  readers 
within  whose  reach  they  can  be  brought— N.  Y.  Times. 

Mr.  Reade  is  one  of  the  most  vigorous  of  modern  writers  of  fiction.  And  in  all  his  works  he  has  a  high 
moral  aim,  as  the  exposure  of  some  evil  that  demands  correction.— Observer,  N.  Y. 

Here  is  a  man  at  least  who  knows  something,  and  knows  how  to  say  it— Hartford  Courant. 

Mr.  Reade  has  now  passed  the  meridian  of  life,  but  his  pen  is  as  vigorous  as  ever,  his  enthusiasm  as  great 
as  when  he  wrote  "Peg  Woffington,"  and  his  clear  perception  of  wrong  as  keen  as  in  the  heyday  of  his 
youth.  In  his  latest  novel  he  has  given  us  a  study  of  life  as  artistic,  interesting,  and  absorbing  us  any  which 
has  issued  from  his  brain. — Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 


HARPER'S     POPULAR    EDITION. 


A  Hero  and  a  Martyr, 

A  True  Narrative.    With  a  Portrait.     8vo, 
Paper,  15  cents. 

A  Simpleton : 

A  Story  of  the  Day.     8vo,  Paper,  35  cents ; 
Cloth,  85  cents. 

A  Terrible  Temptation, 

Illustrated.     8vo,  Paper,  40  cents. 

A  Woman-Hater, 

With  Two  Illustrations.     8vo,  Paper,  CO 
cents. 

Foul  Play, 

By  CHARLES  EEADE  and  DION  BOUCICAULT. 
8vo,  Paper,  35  cents. 

Griffith  Gaunt ; 

Or,  Jealousy.     Illustrated.     8vo,  Paper,  40 
cents. 

Hard  Cash, 

A  Matter-of-Fact  Romance.      Illustrated. 
8vo,  Paper,  50  cents  ;  Cloth,  $1  00. 

Reade's  Novels,  3  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  $G  50. 


It  is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mend, 

8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 

Love  Me  Little,  Love  Me  Long, 

8vo,  Paper,  35  cents. 

Multum  in  Parvo, 

A  Collection  of  Good   Stories,  with  no 
Waste  of  Words.     4to,  Paper,  15  cents. 

Peg  Woffington, 

Christie   Johnstone,  and    Other    Stories. 
8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 

Put  Yourself  in  His  Place, 

Illustrated.     8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 

The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth; 

Or,  Maid,  Wife,  and  Widow.     8vo,  Pa 
per,  50  cents. 

The  Jilt, 

Illustrated.     32mo,  Paper,  20  cents. 

The  Wandering  Heir, 

Illustrated.     8vo,  Paper,  25  cents. 

White  Lies, 

8vo,  Paper,  40  cents. 


HARPER'S    HOUSEHOLD    EDITION. 

Illustrated.     12mo,  Cloth,  $1  00  per  vol.;  $10  00  per  set  of  12  vols. 


A  Simpleton,  and  The  Wandering 

Heir, 

A  Terrible  Temptation, 
A  Woman-Hater, 
Foul  Play, 
Griffith  Gaunt, 
Hard  Cash, 


It  is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mend, 
Love  Me  Little,  Love  Me  Long, 
Peg  Woffington, 
Put  Yourself  in  His  Place, 
The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth, 
White  Lies, 


PUBLISHED  BY  HAPvPEK  &  BPvOTIIEES,  NEW  YOKE. 

HAEPEB  &  BEOTIIEES  will  send  any  of  the  above  works  'by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the 
United  States,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


HARPER'S  BAZAR,  1884. 


WITH  1884,  HARPER'S  BAZAR  enters  upon  the  Seventeenth  Year  of  its  exist 
ence.  During  this  time  it  has  established  its  position  as  the  leading  House 
hold  Journal,  not  only  of  America,  but  of  the  world.  It  is  the  only  paper,  in 
either  continent,  that  combines  the  choicest  literature  and  the  finest  art  illustra 
tions  with  the  latest  fashions,  methods  of  household  adornment,  and  all  the  minor 
useful  arts  that  are  dear  to  the  model  house-keeper,  and  that  serve  to  make  the 
home  attractive. 

HARPER'S  BAZAR  is  the  acknowledged  arbiter  of  fashion.  Its  weekly  illustra 
tions  and  descriptions  of  the  newest  Paris  and  New  York  styles,  with  its  useful 
pattern-sheet  supplements  and  cut  patterns,  swiftly  spread  the  news  of  the  changes 
of  fashion  from  the  metropolis  all  over  the  land,  and,  by  enabling  ladies  to  be  their 
own  dress-makers,  save  many  times  the  annual  cost  of  subscription.  It  also  fur 
nishes  information  concerning  the  materials  in  vogue  and  their  prices,  with  sug 
gestions  as  to  the  best  methods  of  making  them  up  at  home,  and  adapting  last 
year's  wardrobe  to  the  style  of  to-day.  Its  papers  on  cooking,  the  management 
of  servants,  and  house-keeping  in  its  various  details,  are  from  the  best  sources,  and 
are  eminently  practical.  Its  illustrated  articles  and  designs  for  household  adorn 
ment,  decorative  art  needlework,  etc.,  which  have  attracted  so  much  attention,  and 
which  will  be  continued,  are  from  the  highest  authorities,  both  native  and  foreign, 
such  as  the  Decorative  Art  Societies  of  New  York  and  California,  Mrs.  T.  W. 
Dewing,  Mrs.  Candace  Wheeler,  Miss  Dora  Wheeler,  the  South  Kensington  Royal 
School  of  Art  Needlework,  etc. 

Much  attention  is  also  given  to  the  interesting  topic  of  social  etiquette,  as 
practised  by  the  best  New  York  society,  including  the  usages  concerning  visits, 
calls,  weddings,  dinners,  balls,  parties,  and  other  festive  occasions. 

The  literary  merit  of  HARPER'S  BAZAR  is,  moreover,  of  the  highest  excellence. 
Its  serial  stories  are  by  the  most  eminent  authors,  such  as  William  Black,  F.  W. 
Robinson,  Mrs.  Lynn  Linton,  James  Payn,  W.  Clark  Russell,  Miss  Braddon,  and 
other  acknowledged  masters  of  fiction.  Its  short  stories  are  notable  for  their 
brightness  and  originality.  Its  pithy  editorials  are  marked  by  good  sense  and 
good  taste.  Its  poems,  essays,  and  other  articles  are  carefully  selected,  nothing 
being  admitted  that  would  offend  the  most  fastidious  taste. 

The  exquisite  art  pictures  published  in  each  volume  of  HARPER'S  BAZAR  would 
fill  a  good-sized  portfolio.  Its  fine  double  and  single  page  engravings  of  the  pict 
ures  by  the  most  celebrated  artists,  exhibited  in  the  London  galleries,  the  Paris 
Salon,  and  elsewhere,  including  the  Types  of  Beauty  and  the  English  Cathedrals, 
together  with  numerous  pictures  by  American  artists,  will  be  continued  in  Volume 
XVII.,  as  will  the  highly  original  humorous  cuts,  which  have  won  for  it  the  name 
of  the  American  PUNCH. 

It  is  the  aim  of  HARPER'S  BAZAR  to  keep  abreast  with  the  times;  to  be  fore 
most  in  the  discussion  of  every  topic  interesting  to  the  family ;  to  chronicle  all 
changes  in  fashion  and  social  usages ;  to  furnish  its  readers  with  the  best  attainable 
reading-matter  and  illustrations ;  and  to  be  useful,  practical,  sensible,  and  instruc 
tive.  A  host  of  novelties  is  in  preparation  for  the  new  volume. 


SUBSCRIPTION  PRICE,  PER  YEAR,  $4  OO. 


Whenever  HARPER'S  BAZAR  cannot  be  obtained  through  a  Bookseller  or  News 
dealer,  application,  with  remittance  of  Four  Dollars,  should  be  made  direct  by  Post- 
Office  Money  Order  or  Draft  to  the  Publishers, 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  FRANKLIN  SQUARE,  NEW  YORK. 


14  DAY  USE 

KETURN  TO  DESK  PROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 


Renewed  books  are  subject  to 


LD  2l-100m-6,'56 
(B9311slO)476 


General  Library     . 
University  of  California 
Berkeley 


YC 102695 


SUBSCRIBE  TO  HARPER'S  WEEKLY. 

THE  position"  which  this  journal  holds  as  the  best  illustrated  weekly 
newspaper  in  America  was  firmly  established  many  years  ago ;  and  it 
has  never  forfeited  the  confidence  nor  lost  the  sympathy  of  its  readers. 

Constantly  increasing  its  literary  and  artistic  resources,  HARPER'S 
WEEKLY  offers  for  the  ensuing  year  attractions  unsurpassed  in  any  pre 
vious  volume.  •  Enlisted  Jn  its  service  are  many  of  the  foremost  authors 
of  the  day ;  it  employs  the  most  skilful  artists  and  engravers,  and  its  pub 
lishers  will  lose  no  opportunity  to  render  its  pages  more  and  more  attract 
ive  and  entertaining  from  week  to  week. 

No  safer  or  more  instructive  guide  in  American  politics  can  be  named 
than  HARPER'S  WEEKLY.  All  the  great  measures  for  the  improvement 
of  civil  administration,  which  have  been  adopted  in  our  National  or  State 
systems,  have  found  earnest  and  unswerving  advocacy  in  its  pages,  and  it 
will  be  the  aim  of  its  conductors  to  keep  it  in  thorough  sympathy  with 
the  highest  instincts  and  aspirations  of  the  American  people. 

The  illustrations  in  HARPER'S  WEEKLY  cover  a  wide  range  of  subjects, 
embracing  political  cartocr»«,  'comics,  art-pictures  in  the  finest  style  of 
wood-engraving,  portraits,  striking  events  of  the  day,  games  and  out-door 
sports ;  in  short,  everything  capable  of  graphic  delineation.  HARPER'S 
WEEKLY  -thus  presents  a  pictorial  chronicle  of  all  noteworthy  events. 

Among  the  special  attractions  of  HARPER'S  WEEKLY  for  the  coming 
year  will  be : 

I.  A  no.*.  Serial  Story  by  CHARLES'  KFA»DE,  the  first  he  has  written  in 
e  year, . 

II.  Siiu.r  Stories  of  the  most  graphic  and  entertaining  character,  many 
of  them  illustrated  by  our  foremost  artists. 

III.  Important  papers  by  high  authorities  on  the  Social,  Industrial, 
and  Political  topics  of  the  time. 

Every  one  who  desires  a  trustworthy  political  guide,  an  entertaining 
and  r'.trvu'tive  family  journal,  entirely  free  from  objectionable  features 
in  either  letter -press  or  illustrations,  should  subscribe  for  HARPERS 
WEEKLY. 

SUBSCRIPTION    PRICE,   FOUR   DOLLARS    PER   YEAR. 

Whenever  HARPER'S  WEEKLY  cannot  be  obtained  through  a  Bool  • 
seller  or  Newsdealer,  application,  with  remittance  of  Four  Dollars,  should 
be  made  direct  by  Post-Office  Money  Order  or  Draft  to  the  Publishers, 

HAKPEE  &  BKOTHEES,  FRANKLIN  SQUARE,  NEW  YORK.  ' 


I 


